


You Can't Be My Sugar Daddy, We Don't Even Have Sugar

by anarchycox



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Banter, Crack with Feels, M/M, Porn With Feels, Repressed Feelings, Snark, Sugar Daddy, Tenderness, bickering is flirtation, characters eventually use their words, ciri finds it cute, geralt is an emotional idiot, geralt is confused by jaskier, geralt/yennefer - Freeform, happy ever after, jaskier is fine with them boning, jaskier is geralt's sugar daddy, minor poly, reunited a year or so after 1.06, yennefer is done with this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Geralt runs into Jaskier a year or so after they parted due to perhaps, Geralt overreacting during a stressful time. He hadn't expected Jaskier to actually leave. Ciri is wintering with Yennefer and it has perhaps been a bit lean for Geralt. And it seems Jaskier has thrived. Good for him. Geralt is sure this brief encounter is all that will occur and he'll move on, alone like usual.But to his surprise Jaskier joins him once more. Only whenever they are in a village, Jaskier always buys them the best room, hot baths, Geralt has new armor, and once was given coin to go buy those 'pretty stabby things you were drooling over in the window.' He had snarled, but then bought them. They were really nice daggers.Geralt really wishes he could figure out what was going on. And why all the care feels rather not bad. Not bad at all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 974
Kudos: 2151
Collections: Best Geralt





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thenerdyindividual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/gifts).



> Hello! This is my first fic in this fandom, and mostly if not entirely based on the netflix show.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this bit of crack with feels.
> 
> My eternal thanks to thenerdyindividual for pulling me into this fandom.

If he was the generous glass half full sort, Geralt would call the food he had bought stew.

He had never been that sort of man, and he was certain gruel was even too generous for it. It smelled like piss. Which wouldn’t be the first time someone had pissed in his food, but it was the first food in two days. Winter hunting had been lean and his pocket was even leaner. He really needed to keep more of his money for himself. Yennefer had enough for Ciri. But every time he had that thought, he dismissed it. Because it was the right thing to do. He and Yennefer had agreed - well not agreed, Yennefer had said, and he didn’t disagree - that Ciri would winter with Yennefer and summer with Geralt. The future queen didn’t need to traipse through frozen lands.

He thought it would help her understand hardship; Yennefer had pointed out that was not a lesson Ciri had missed.

Geralt stared at the food and thought maybe he could go another day without eating. His vision was only a little blurry on the edges. He heard a lute strike up, and groaned when he heard the opening notes of “Toss a coin to your witcher”. He never escaped that fucking song.

Or memories of Jaskier.

He didn’t think about the bard every day, but often enough. He regretted how they had parted, but there was little he could do about it. It had been months, almost a year, maybe a bit more (time was confusing and easily forgotten when you had lived as long as he had) and their paths had never passed.

Geralt figured it was a price destiny was demanding of him, and didn’t seek the bard out. He had learned the don’t fuck with destiny lesson. Finally. He dipped his spoon into the ‘food’ and sighed. He really did need the fuel, but the singing was turning him off the food, in a way the food hadn’t.

He was annoyed at how the bard was inflecting the wrong words. No one ever sang the idiotic song right. Only the idiot who penned it ever sang it right. Not that there was a right way to sing the drivel. But still.

He hated the song, unless Jaskier was singing it.

“Lord, that looks dreadful. Did someone piss in it?”

“I’ve had worse than piss,” Geralt replied automatically. He had, after all.

“Here, they gave me far better. People like me after all.” A bowl was dropped in front of him. Hearty stew, rich with meat that might actually be beef, carrot, the smell of pepper. It almost covered the smell of Jaskier’s perfume. He was laying it on heavy again, meant he was hoping to pull tonight.

“Always said people were stupid,” Geralt moved his spoon to the new bowl, and had it devoured in moments. He finally looked up. “Why aren’t you the one singing?”

“Well, you looked like shit, and I thought to myself, well he needs pie with filling, so had that man sing tonight.”

“You had a thought?” Geralt managed not to groan. Fuck, he had fallen into their usual pattern of talking at each other, and that probably wasn’t right.

“I also had the thought of getting you another bowl of stew, but now maybe I don’t have that thought in my head. Thoughts are so very hard to keep track of.” Jaskier had raised his brows, and picked up the bowl. They stared at each other. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said finally.

“Was that so hard?” Jaskier reached out, and pat him on the head. “Good witcher!”

“Fuck you,” Geralt snapped.

Jaskier didn’t respond just walked away. Geralt wondered if he was going to walk right out of the inn tavern, but he returned a bit later with more stew and a pitcher. “Ale,” he said. “Doesn’t have the smell of piss either.”

Geralt nodded, ate and drank. Jaskier was quiet, and honestly Geralt was reaching for a knife. Because history had shown that if Jaskier was this quiet, a monster or magic was involved. He held it under the table, and held the mug in his other. Good for throwing if need be. Had a decent weight to it. Why the fuck was Jaskier was quiet? It had to be a doppler.

“Where is Ciri?” Jaskier asked. “Or did you tell her to fuck off too?”

“The princess winters with Yennefer,” Geralt said. “Learning what she needs to learn there. Spring solstice I will go pick her up and teacher her what I can until the fall. We agreed it would be the best course of action for the next few years.”

“We?”

“Yennefer and Triss told me,” Geralt admitted. “Something about winter camping the way I do it, not being fit for a child.”

“Well it is barely fit for you, so that is logical. Will you actually go back in spring?” Jaskier was glaring at him, and Geralt wondered where he managed to get a stare that was almost as threatening as a kitten. That was new.

“I will. I’m done fighting destiny.”

“Until next time.”

Geralt made the noise that was the closet he came to a laugh. “Until next time.” He nodded. “My thanks for the stew, Jaskier.” He stood ready to leave the noise of the tavern; he had managed to get the promise that he could sleep in the stall he had purchased for Roach.

“Save me,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I have a room. You can stay in it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You smell, have blood in your hair, a hole in your shirt, and were about to eat piss soup.”

“How do you know I have a hole in my shirt, it is under the armor.”

“Because you are you,” Jaskier said. “Come on then.”

“You are wearing the perfume you do when you want to find someone to fuck.”

“You remember what I smell like?” Jaskier smiled at him. “Awwww, my witcher does love me.”

Geralt wondered why it was he had missed Jaskier. Perhaps Triss was right to question how many blows he had had to the head. Jaskier gestured and Geralt followed. Jaskier stopped at the bar, and asked for hot water to be brought up to their room. Geralt was impressed with the amount of coin that the bard slipped her, and then was rather surprised when he saw the room. No wonder Jaskier was willing to put him up for the night, the space was almost triple any other room they had shared over the years. “Huh.”

“I know, a bit small for me these days, but it was the best they had.”

“Small?” 

“Hmmm,” Jaskier opened the door and several maids brought in water buckets. The bathing tub was in a separate room attached to the bedchamber, and fuck it was big enough he’d be able to stretch out his legs. The water was poured in, and Jaskier gave them even more money.

“How do you have so much coin?” Geralt asked. He began to strip out of the armor and bits of dirt and…other dried things flaked off onto the ground. He stared at the mess. “Sorry.”

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And the answer is easy. I’m rich.” He was pouring whatever it was Jaskier put in baths that always made them smell better but not too cloying. He smiled. “Silly, still been carrying your favourite bathing oils around, for what two years?”

“One,” Geralt said and went to the water. It was scalding hot as he preferred.

“Oh, thought it was longer. You fell apart without me this much in one year?” Jaskier shook his head. “Would have thought Yennefer would have taken care of you.”

“I don’t need looking after,” Geralt snapped. And as much as he felt whatever it was he felt for Yennefer, the thought of her taking care of him was horrifying. She’d take care of him into an early grave. Early being relative considering his age.

“Yes, I know, the two years has only increased the brooding I see.” A bucket of water was dumped on his head and then Jaskier’s hands were cleaning his hair. Fuck, he had forgotten how that felt.

“One year,” Geralt repeated.

“Felt longer some days.”

Geralt didn’t answer that. He was surprised when Jaskier went quiet again. It was so fucking unsettling, the silence. Jaskier even fucking talked in his sleep sometimes. He didn’t feel bereft when Jaskier’s hands left his hair. Jaskier was walking away and Geralt called out. “Rich? I am sure you have a tale there.”

“Of course I do, but you enjoy your bath.”

Geralt was left alone in the room, he heard the main door close, and he stayed in the tub a bit longer. The water was starting to cool and he hated tepid baths; had to wash in too many frozen rivers over the decades to make him want to linger in cold water. As he was about to get up, there was a knock. 

“Jaskier sent more hot water,” a voice called. 

Geralt wondered if it was a trap, but if he couldn’t take care of himself in an inn room, he deserved today. Three came with both full and empty buckets, two buckets were taken out of the tub and then more hot water added. Two of the servants left, but the comely redhead lingered. “Jaskier also paid if you wanted company.”

Geralt blinked. That was weird. Even for Jaskier, that was weird. And he was tired. “No, but thank you.” He smiled and she flinched. He settled his features into their more natural blank look. “Farewell.”

She left and he stayed in the water a bit longer. He could not figure that out. Why the fuck would Jaskier buy him sex? He stepped out of the water and dried off a bit. He decided he could use the bath water to clean his armor a bit, but it was gone. “They fucking stole from me?” he shouted. He wrapped the drying cloth around his waist, and it almost stayed in place. He grabbed his sword and stormed out of the room.

Geralt ran downstairs and the whole room went quiet. “Where is my armor?” he snarled. “I will kill whoever took it.” He scanned the room and found Jaskier tracing the line of skin around a woman’s throat and she was quite flushed. Geralt could smell her arousal from ten paces away. “They stole from us, Jaskier!”

“Us?” she said. “I’m not -. No sir, thank you very much. No.” She hurried away.

Fuck, he cost Jaskier his bed partner tonight. After Jaskier had given him everything he had. Geralt sort of grunted. He could feel the cloth slipping on his hips and grabbed it with his free hand.

This was an all new way he was managing to ruin his reputation in a town. 

He decided it was all Jaskier’s fault. “You,” he growled.

“Yes me, the one who paid the inn servants to clean and patch your armor.”

“It is not a good idea to give it to strangers,” he said. There were both bottles, knives, things hidden in there that could kill humans.

“I removed everything dangerous,” Jaskier made a face at him. “Not like you were subtle where you hid everything in there. Only been a couple years, not like I had forgotten.”

“One year,” Geralt gritted his teeth. It was bothering him that Jaskier couldn’t get the time right. “And maybe there are things about me you don’t know.”

“True that scar is new.” Jaskier pointed at where a wolf had bit him. Not even a monster, just a regular fucking wolf, when he had perhaps had a fever and been too delirious to fight it off. “Now shall we go upstairs, unless you’d like everyone to see more of your sword.”

Geralt looked at the weapon in his hand. And then followed Jaskier’s gaze to his cock that was almost on display, the cloth sagging. “Fuck,” he turned and went back to the room. Jaskier followed along. He waited for Jaskier to start yelling him, but the bard was quiet. It hurt. And he hated that it hurt. “Say something,” Geralt muttered.

“You don’t like it when I talk.” 

“And when did that every stop you?”

“You know when,” Jaskier said.

Geralt supposed he did. “Why aren’t you hitting me or something?”

“Yes, because I want to break my hand on your rugged stubble and sharp jawline. And then have you insult the punch. But trust me, I had my revenge. There are several villages where they are quite convinced in order to gain their magic, Witchers give up their manhood. Or that you like to fuck goats most of all. Ugly ones, only after they head butt you.”

“Which villages?”

“Just leave that as a surprise on your journeys,” Jaskier replied.

Geralt laughed. A proper laugh, an almost human noise. He looked at Jaskier. The man looked good. Polished, the clothes rich. He seemed well settled. Geralt had a fleeting thought of asking Jaskier to travel a bit with him, he was sure he’d get sick of Jaskier in a week, it would ease that itch in the back of his brain and he could go back to being alone. But he couldn’t ask Jaskier to give up this room, for a pallet in winter woods. “I am sorry.”

“Not good enough, not for what you said.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Geralt nodded. “I should go.”

“Just sleep in comfort for one night. You can return to your delightful misery tomorrow.”

Geralt nodded and went to stretch out on the bed. Fuck, it was the best bed ever. At least it felt like that. “Do you still sing Toss a Coin?” he found himself asking.

“Ha! That old drivel, let the amateurs have it,” Jaskier replied. “Night Geralt.” He left the room, and Geralt was determined to not ruin the man’s night anymore. It was the best rest he had had in months.

He was awake before dawn, and when he opened the door, his armor was there looking better than it had in a while, and fresh bread still warm from the ovens. He ate and dressed. There was no sign of Jaskier. That was fine.

Geralt packed swiftly and went to the stables, there was likely monsters to the west that needed slaying. Maybe he’d even get paid this time. He heard lute music in the grey of the not yet dawn.

Jaskier was there, strumming, in a fur lined cloak, a bag at his feet, and Roach looking annoyingly happy. “Well, where are we off to?” Jaskier asked.

“Just like that?”

“Bit bored of this town anyways. Fucked all the pretty ones, the good meat is starting to run low. And could use some new material. Wouldn’t want the songs to get stale.”

“How do they get stale when they are already rubbish?” Geralt asked.

“There is the oh so clever wit that I missed so much the last two years.”

“One.”

“Witcher, it has in fact been three.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Geralt paused. He thought about it. It couldn't be could it? “Oh, shit.” Jaskier was incapable of lying to him. So fuck, it must have been three years.

“Hmmm,” Jaskier replied. “I suggest when we stop, you write a letter to Yennefer and one to Ciri. Try groveling. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how on the walk. Where are we headed?”

“West.” Geralt mounted Roach. Fuck, it had been three years? It couldn’t have been. Shit, fuck. Fuck, shit. “Three years?”

Jaskier smiled at him. “I’ll write the letters, you’d fuck up even more than you have.” 

Roach ambled forward and Jaskier walked beside him, and Geralt was pissed off at how right it all felt. Three hours later, he blinked. “You fucking liar, it hasn’t been three years!” He had been calculating every journey, every kill, and nothing added up to that much time.

“You should see your face right now!” Jaskier crowed. “I actually had you believing it had been three years. Gods above, you actually got thicker in the year apart. How do you even manage to ride your horse and talk at the same time?”

Geralt glowered at him.

He was struggling to remember exactly why he had missed the bard.

Jaskier began to sing, something Geralt didn’t recognize, but it soothed him and perhaps, he did remember why he had missed the bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt was watching Jaskier across from the fire. He was on a rather nice pallet that he had pulled out of the pack leaned up against the log next to him. And a pillow. A rather fluffy one. And a large, blanket that was frankly fit for a king’s bed. Jaskier had also changed into ‘lounging clothes’ whatever those were. They looked like silk.

“Bag of holding?” Geralt finally asked. It was the only explanation.

“Oh, please,” Jaskier snorted. He put the loot down. “Wine?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, and watched Jaskier pull a bottle and two glasses out. “Dangerous magic.”

“Not really, and it isn’t bigger on the inside. It is, a gateway of sorts.”

“Even more dangerous,” Geralt commented, but he didn’t refuse the wine. “A bag that is a gate? That is not a common thing at all.”

“I have a permanent room, at a location,” Jaskier explained.

“Where?” 

“A location,” Jaskier repeated. “I think of a thing in that room, and it appears in the bag. When I am done with it, put it in and it returns to the room.”

“Could you return to the room?”

“Geralt, it is a traveler’s bag. I’m lithe and sinuous, but I cannot fit in a bag.”

“Oh I bet I could get you in there,” Geralt said. He smiled slowly. “One way or another.”

“Yes, yes, you are very scary,” Jaskier held up the bottle. “Another glass? It is your favourite wine.”

“I don’t have a favourite wine,” Geralt took a hefty swallow and held out his glass to be refilled. He paused. “Oh, I do like this.” He took another drink. “What is it?” It was tickling at him memory.

“It was the wine at the night of the Law of Surprise,” Jaskier said quietly. “Two years ago? Five, I don’t know. You once said,” Jaskier lowered his voice and Geralt snorted at the attempt to copy his vocal patterns, “ _God Calanthe is a bitch, and that night was shit, but the wine was good._ ”

Geralt didn’t remember that at all. “I just said that out of the blue?”

“No, we were paid in wine for a job. And it was shit wine. But you said that.” Jaskier looked at how little was left in the bottle and poured it out, filling Geralt’s glass to the brim. “Only a couple bottles left now. Probably in the whole world. Cheers!” Geralt watched him swallow a fair bit. A flush rose on Jaskier’s cheek. Red wine always hit him rather impressively.

“It would be worth a small fortune, you wasted it on tonight?”

“Celebrating the return of the bard to his muse,” Jaskier shouted. “Is there a better thing to celebrate?”

“I am sure there is,” Geralt frowned at him. “Were you serious about being rich?” It had to be complete bullshit.

“Of course! I lie about many things but never money.”

“Yes you do,” Geralt thought of all the times, Jaskier lied about what lined their pockets to get them food, a room. Until his songs could make it truth. And if they didn’t, well they had only disappeared out a window or back door a few times.

“Yes, I do,” Jaskier smiled. He finished his glass and carefully put it back in his bag. “All done?”

Geralt finished his wine, and watched his glass disappear. Jaskier went back to playing his lute. “Well?”

“Well what? I was thinking a balled about that kikimora.”

“You weren’t with me when I killed that,” Geralt said. That was before Jaskier changed his reputation.

“No, the one you killed with me. 8 years ago?” Jaskier frowned. “Never wrote the story, it was too sad. I want to write something too sad tonight.”

Geralt remembered then. The couple that they had found, the monster killing the woman and the man they couldn’t stop from trying to rescue her, even though they had known she was long dead. “He was a fool.”

“He was in love.”

“All men in love are fools.”

“You certainly are,” Jaskier replied. He smiled. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

“You say everything out loud,” Geralt replied. “Write your song then.” He poked at the fire. He hadn’t been a fool. Mostly. He just…had been something. Yennefer made you something. But not a fool. Loving her was right, and good, and -

Fair, he was a fucking fool. He listened as Jaskier wrote that weird mix of line repetition, and fingers plucking at strings, trying to sort how it all went together. It was a hypnotic process - not that he’d ever mention that to Jaskier - but it reminded him of cleaning his sword. Which actually he should attend to his weapons. It was a scene common to their years of travel together. Geralt checking his weapons, testing the edges, cleaning the metal, while Jaskier made noise. 

He ran his daggers over the leather strap in time with the song that was starting to emerge. “Hmm,” he frowned and moved the one dagger about. The firelight caught the spot that concerned him. “Fuck.”

“Problem?”

“Nick in the blade,” Geralt replied.

“You name your daggers? I would have thought you’d use a better name than Nick. Nick is a carpet salesman. Nick. Nick sells you dog meat. Should be Wilhelm, or Hildegaard. Not Nick.”

Geralt closed his eyes. “Are you that much a fool, or just playing at one to annoy me?”

“More fun to leave you in suspense.” He strummed an ominous sound. “ _Is Jaskier a fool, doesn’t know how Geralt cares for his tool? What will he say, will he prattle, will he jangle, will he_ -”

“It is a weak spot, and means the blade could easily break in a fight. And the edges have been honed down enough, a weapon’s smith will tell me it is only good for scrap at this point. So unless you can pull a dagger from that bag, I will need to buy a new set.”

“Why, is Wilhelm nicked too?”

Geralt closed his eyes. “You don’t name weapons unless you are a child.”

“Or a fool,” Jaskier replied.

Geralt looked across the fire at Jaskier. The play of light made it hard to tell how much Jaskier was serious and how much he was making fun. The year apart, had changed something. They had spent a year apart before, years even, but this one particular year had changed the man. There was something; Geralt couldn’t quite call it an edge. But the rhythm of their conversation was just different. It hadn’t changed ever, but now it had.

It had been a hell of a year though.

“The daggers being of a balance with each other, makes fighting easier,” Geralt explained. “But the quality I need, costs quite a bit. Hopefully the next job is a big one.” He worked on the sword, and it was fine, almost as loyal a companion as Roach. “You still haven’t said how you are rich.”

“No, I haven’t.” Jaskier stood up and went away, presumably to take a piss, and Geralt realized the bard had no intention of answering. He put away his weapons and was tired. He stripped down a bit, and put the better dagger under the very thin pillow he had that rolled into the well worn pallet. He stared at the fire a bit. Jaskier was unsettling him. Perhaps he had become a doppler and would kill Geralt in the night. 

He was just tired enough not to care.

Besides a doppler could do a lot, but it never smelled quite like the human, not if you knew them well. And he supposed he knew Jaskier well. Well enough to be sure it was no doppler. 

“Lord, your pallet is looking just dreadful,” Jaskier said upon his return. “Did some creature eat it and shit it out whole.”

“Fuck off, Jaskier, I want to sleep.” Geralt looked up at him. “And they shit on it, they didn’t actually shit it.”

“An important distinction to be sure. Up!” He could see Jaskier tapping a foot. “Up, Geralt.”

“I’m comfortable.” He wasn’t, the pallet was utter rubbish, but Jaskier did not need to know that. He snuggled in deeper. They both heard the fabric tear a bit. “That was gas.”

“No, I know what it sounds like when you pass wind.” Jaskier shuddered about. “Let us never talk about that one fish stew again.”

Geralt snorted a bit. “Like you smelled any better that night.” It was the worst meal they had perhaps ever had, and the fact it hadn’t killed them was truly remarkable. He yawned and stretched. “Comfortable.”

“Yes, the mighty hero, is resplendent in his suffering. But I ask you, Geralt, are you sure that you are sleeping alone?”

“Do you see anyone else around here?” Geralt sat up. “Jaskier…do you see anyone else here?” He picked up the dagger, and started to move to protect the bard. 

“I meant that I am sure may bugs have taken roost in that pallet.”

“I’d hear them moving about,” Geralt answered.

“Then perhaps they are all dead in there. Thing of all the little dead bug carcasses in there, Geralt.” Geralt couldn’t stop the flinch that caused. Jaskier knew Geralt was uncomfortable around dead bugs. “Ha! Yes, now.” Jaskier grabbed the pallet and threw it into the fire. They both watched the fire grow terrifyingly tall and a bit purple. “Spilled a potion on it at some point too, I see.”

“I need that!” Geralt yelled. “The fabric at least could have been salvaged for something.” You didn’t just destroy things when you traveled the road. It could always be remade into something else. You didn’t just burn perfectly good shit.

Mostly good.

Utter shit, but maybe it could be of use. It had only been thirty years old. Maybe forty. He watched Jaskier reach into his bag and another pallet was brought out. And a pillow. Not as fluffy as Jaskier’s. More similar to what Geralt had, but newer, better. He took the objects when Jaskier thrust them at him. The fabric was well made, soft but sturdy. The pillow smelled of fresh feather, and he could just make out the embroidery of arrows along the edge. He looked at Jaskier. “You had a second pallet.”

Jaskier just shrugged. “Look, I wasn’t going to seek you out, but I knew we’d run into each other again at some point. I was prepared.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a blanket. “Here, it matches the pillow.”

“What do I care if it matches?” It was a good blanket, not as absurd as the one Jaskier had pulled from that weird bag, but again sturdy, practical, with a touch of flair. And it smelled of the woman who made it. Of the sea, and honeysuckle. It was just barely there, but it was a comforting scent. 

“Well, I care,” Jaskier said after a bit. “Just because we are out in the woods, doesn’t mean we can’t look good.”

That was absolutely the Jaskier he knew. They lay down on their pallets and Geralt knew Jaskier’s breathing enough, to know he wasn’t asleep. They watched the fire slowly die, just embers keeping them warm. 

Well, that and the thick pallets and warm blankets.

“You bought these just on the off chance we met again? To give to me?”

“Why not?” Jaskier replied.

Geralt couldn’t think of an answer to that right away. “You are a fool,” he said finally.

“So you’ve always said.”

He wondered if this would be the time, that Jaskier left. He needed to change how he spoke to the man. Like how Jaskier had changed over the year. 

“My thanks. I appreciate them,” Geralt said.

“Good. Try not to let a monster shit on them.”

Geralt snorted and listened until Jaskier began to snore. He fell asleep realizing that he had perhaps missed that sound. It was annoying, of course, that Jaskier made as much noise in his sleep as he did awake.

But he had missed it.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a standard village. Grey, small, a nice variety of shit in the mud. And he could smell a hint of fear. It always used to be directed at him, until that stupid fucking song. But this was a larger fear. On the women, the men smelled fine. Or not fine, but it was faint, he couldn’t name it. “There is a job here.”

“There is,” Jaskier agreed. Geralt figured he meant his own work, because Jaskier certainly could not smell fear. He strummed his lute and started to sing the new song he had been working on. People stopped to listen, and he sold it for all he was worth, which seemed to be a lot these days. Geralt huffed and kept walking until he found a stable to take Roach, and they said the inn was just two buildings down. He saw a crowd had gathered around Jaskier and they were all singing a bar song, which meant Jaskier was priming the pumps for later. He was walking towards the in, when a glint caught his eye. He crossed the street and smiled. 

“Something catch your eye?” The man asked. The armory shop was far better stocked than a town like this should have. “Used to make swords for Queen Calanthe, once upon a time. But well…one day, Cirilla, may the gods keep her, will restore Cintra to glory, and all will be returned.”

“Fuck, I hope not,” Geralt muttered. He and Yennefer were moving hell itself to keep the teachings of Calanthe away from Cirilla. She would need firmness, and power, but never that cruelty to rule. “Those daggers there. Do you have a pair that isn’t just for show?”

“Now, you are the first one to notice those are complete rubbish, meant to be a show on that fop there’s hip.” The smith gestured to Jaskier. “Not for a man who matters, like you.”

“Jaskier matters,” Geralt frowned at the man. “Just show me your wares.”

The armorer nodded and brought out a few sets. Geralt moved them about. A couple were too light, and one set too heavy. But there was one pair. Simple, honed to perfection, the handles enough heft to knock a man cold, but not so much that they didn’t move easily in the hand. “Those are some of my best. Been ignored for being too simple.”

“People notice the wrong things.”

“That they do, that they do. But you don’t.”

“How much?”

“400 crowns,” the man said.

Geralt snorted. “Maybe in Cintra, five years ago. But not here, not now.”

“200,” the man replied.

“Fair,” Geralt agreed. Not that he had 200 crowns. It was a fortune, but those blades were worth it. “This town having any problems that could use the help of a Witcher?”

The man looked at him. He didn’t have the scent, or if he did it was covered just enough by the metal and the forge. “Maybe. Something has been not quite the same recently. How did you know?”

“I always know.”

“The innkeeper can give you more information.”

That was usual. He was about to ask the man, to hold the daggers for him until then, but Jaskier came over. “Ooh, look at all the stabby things. You need stabby things! Oh those are boring. What about those ones?” Jaskier pointed at the first set, and the man smirked at him. “What?” Jaskier frowned a bit. “Why wouldn’t you get the pretty ones?”

“This set would suit my needs better. Perhaps after we know what the job is, I need to think on it more,” Geralt nodded to the smith.

“How much are the pretty ones?” Jaskier asked.

“5 Ducats,” the smith said, and Geralt moved forward a bit, because asking gold for show daggers like those was horse shit.

Jaskier smiled. “My good sir, I will give you 2 Ducats for those daggers, and whatever else in your stock the Witcher who is going to solve your town’s problems, wants.”

Geralt blinked at him. “What?”

“You said you needed new daggers, you looked at those ones more lustfully than any whore I’ve seen you go upstairs with.”

“Jaskier, those are crap daggers, but you’ll still manage to injure yourself on them.”

“Oh I know that,” Jaskier waved a hand. “But he was mean to pretty things. And that is just rude. They’ll make a good gift for Ciri.”

Actually, to be fair they would. They were are pretty as she was, and crap for fighting monsters, but not crap for training her. But still, he was fairly certain he was the one who should spoil Ciri. “I can buy gifts for my daughter.” Geralt stilled as Jaskier smiled at him. Jaskier had a million smiles, and he had sworn he had seen them all over the decades, but this one, was different. New. “What?”

“The price has gone down to 1 Ducat,” Jaskier said. He kept smiling that new smile. “You called her your daughter.”

“And?” Geralt looked at him. He really needed to stop smiling like that. It was weird, made him look…something. It annoyed Geralt that he couldn’t think what it made Jaskier look like. 

“Nothing, price is down to 900 crowns now,” Jaskier said. “It is just interesting as all. The people you grow attached to, the ones you don’t.” He looked at the smith. “700.”

“Sold,” the smith said quickly. He wrapped the pretty dagger set, and gave it to Jaskier. “A good gift for a girl, if she is like her father. And that way you won’t callus your soft hands.” He handed the other pair to Geralt.

“My hands are callused enough,” Jaskier said and gave a bow. “My thanks. Too the inn, Geralt?”

“I don’t know that you should buy things from a man who insults you so,” Geralt said and found himself glaring at the smith a bit. He enjoyed how the man backed away a little too much.

Jaskier snorted. “Geralt, everyone insults me. You once said, to look at me, any man thinks of five insults in between breaths.” He grinned, that smile that Geralt well knew - his fool’s smile, that hid how smart the bastard was under all the frippery. “And besides, I can afford to be generous to anyone stuck in this blah little town. We at least get to leave, renowned through the land, you a saviour, me the one who brightens days of those stuck in the mud and mire. We get to be heroes, and leave. He will be stuck here forever.”

“You are no hero,” the smith protested.

“You ever sing Toss a Coin when drunk in a bar?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Hero can mean many things. To the inn!” Jaskier walked away humming, and Geralt was sure that would be the time he would sing the old song, but he didn’t. It was something else. It was starting to bother Geralt that Jaskier didn’t sing Toss a Coin. But he put the daggers in the small of his back and they went to the inn. “Thank you,” Geralt whispered as they went in the door.

“Of course! You need the right stabby stab things, to not die. I didn’t start traveling with you, only to have you die on me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, because he knew that Jaskier was saying stabby stab just to bother him and he refused to rise to the occasion. He scanned the room. And something felt off. “Stay behind me,” he said. He could smell something. 

“No, I want a drink,” Jaskier replied and went to the bar. He ordered an ale and brought it to his lips. He managed to drink half of it, Geralt knocked it out of his hand and the whole bar froze. “Hey!” Jaskier complained. “That wasn’t even the third worst ale, I’ve had.”

“There is something in that ale,” Geralt replied. “I smell it in the skin of people here. Something, not right.” He looked to the innkeeper. “You?” But he could smell it in the man as well. “You are going to tell me.”

“I am going to tell you,” the man agreed.

“Where does this ale come from?” Geralt asked. 

“A woman brews in the woods, and brings it in.”

“Give me a mug of the ale,” Geralt said and the man poured one out. He sniffed it, and Jaskier made a reach for it. “No, it is poisoned, Jaskier.”

“But it is delicious! There are worse ways to die.”

“You aren’t allowed to die,” Geralt snapped. He inhaled again and finally recognized the scent. “Well now, we need to talk to this woman.” He put it down and cursed when Jaskier was faster than he expected and drank another half glass. Geralt knocked it away and watched a man come lick the floor to collect all that had fallen. “Fuck.” He should probably deal with what they had here, but it was better to deal with the woman. He debated ordering Jaskier to stay here, but then he might drink some more. “Come on,” he said.

“But more ale,” Jaskier protested.

“We’re going to where they make the ale.”

“Wonderful. I should write a song about ale. My songs are all to be sung with ale, but not about it. That is just wrong. I shall begin this more important composition on our way to give our gratitude to the brewer of this elixir. Ale, ale, ale, ale.”

Fuck, it seemed like the song was mostly going to be the words ale, yummy, and bizarre happy noises. It was not a long walk to their destination but Geralt was ready to kill the woman just from what he had been listening to. “Shut up,” he ordered and Jaskier fell silent. And Geralt learned that Jaskier was incredibly suseptible to the dried weed that had been put in the ale. The house looked simple, well kept. He could smell the brewing ale. He looked around and couldn’t see the weed in question but she was hardly likely to just have it in the front lawn. He signaled for Jaskier to stay quiet but it didn’t seem like it would be a problem, even the trace amounts that were in the ale had sway over him. 

Well, may as well knock on the front door. Geralt moved forward and knocked. The witch who opened the door was beautiful. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“Hello, Geralt,” she said.

Jaskier glared at him, and pointed between them.

“You can speak,” Geralt realized that if he didn’t say that Jaskier would remain silent. He didn’t for a second even contemplate how much he always wished for Jaskier to be quiet — he had done that once and didn’t want ever to do that again.

“You know her?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt replied.

“Come on in,” she said. “I’ll make tea.”

“No, thanks, smelled what you are brewing these days.”

“You mean my gift to the women of the village?” She smiled at them. “How is Yennefer, Geralt?”

“Well enough, go near her and I’ll kill you.”

“We are dear friends, I am sure she would welcome my company.”

“Not anytime soon,” Geralt said. “She wouldn’t let you near -”

“Her potion supplies,” Jaskier cut him off. Geralt looked at him, and so did the witch.

“Geralt was going to say something else, something that would have been interesting and you stopped him. I can smell my ale on you. What was he going to say. Tell me.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied.

That was entirely unexpected.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“Oh I am sorry, do the words fuck off mean something different in the swamp you dragged yourself out of?” Jaskier looked at Geralt. “So like does that one witch school just create the worst bitches ever or what?”

“Triss is from there?” Geralt offered.

“One. They create one witch who isn’t completely insane? Jesus they have an even worse track record than your teachers. I’m almost impressed.” Jaskier shook his head. “Can you just kill her and we go?”

“I can’t, she isn’t actually killing anyone. She is just making men…compliant.” Geralt was pretty sure that this would end with him killing her, but there was a chance that this could end not horribly. Yennefer tended to get…tetchy when he killed witches she knew. Unless she hated them. Then she got furious, something about taking away her chance to kill them. “Isn’t that right?”

“For now,” she agreed. She was looking at Jaskier and before Geralt could stop her she threw a good bit of the powder into his face. “Now then, tell me what you stopped him from saying.”

Geralt had one of the new daggers at her throat between one breath and the next. And by the third she was dead. Solved the problem of Jaskier having to try not to answer. Not that he could have, he was busy sneezing and coughing from all the powder in his face. Geralt hurried out to the well and brought back some water, which Jaskier drank too quickly and caused more hacking. Geralt thumped him on the back, helpfully.

Only it knocked Jaskier down to the ground, so maybe it was a little less than helpful. He pulled Jaskier back into the chair and crouched in front of him. His pupils were huge making his eyes look almost black. “Is that what I look like when I drink the potion?” he thought.

“Do I look like a creature that is terrifying, but you also want to fuck you until you forget whatever god you believe in?” Jaskier replied.

Geralt blinked. “Uhh, no, you look like Jaskier? Just…weird.”

“Then you have your answer. What is that shit?”

“Shit is a good enough description.” Geralt decided to ignore what Jaskier had said, this weed had bizarre effects on people. Well, it didn’t, it was very straightforward, but he’d pretend. He poked around the cabin and found a few things that could counter act it. “Drink this,” he said. He was always amazed when Jaskier did what Geralt asked without question.

It was either without question, or ignored entirely. Often fun to guess which would it be. And this time was without question. Geralt figured since he wouldn’t actually get paid by anyone for dealing with the witch, he might as well raid her stores. There were some good ingredients and a few coins to be had. He dragged her body out well away from the cabin to feed the wolves. When he returned Jaskier was looking a bit better. “It is a weed, innocent enough,” he explained. “But when dried in a particular way and turned to powder can make people compliant. Willing. You can order them about, bend them to your will. But not all the way? They have to be willing to bend.”

“Which is why I ignored her but listened to you.” Jaskier nodded to himself. “Cool, so we’re destroying everything we don’t steal right?”

Geralt smiled. “Right.” He looked around, there were a few more things that could be useful, but they couldn’t carry it all. “Can we send a few things through your bag?”

“Whatever you want,” Jaskier replied. Geralt handed him things, that he thought might be useful at some point. “You never did say where the location of your room was,” Geralt commented as he passed over a jar of eyeballs.

“Oh, it’s at Kaer Morhen!” Jaskier said cheerfully, and his jaw clamped shut. “Shit, wasn’t actually supposed to tell you that.”

Geralt realized that Jaskier was still a bit under the influence. He could press so easily for all the answers he wanted.

For Jaskier to sing that stupid fucking song, that he didn’t miss hearing from Jaskier at all. He opened his mouth, but Jaskier was looking at him. With those huge eyes that always seemed to ask everything of Geralt. 

Please, let me travel with you.

Please, save me.

Please, help me.

Please.

Geralt nodded. He handed him a few more things and then they destroyed the barrels of ale in back, lit the cabin aflame. “Well, we may as well collect Roach. Don’t think we want to linger. People will be annoyed we destroyed their ale supplier.” They went back to town, and Geralt told the inn keeper’s wife what they had done. She seemed relieved, and slid them some crowns. Not much, but better than nothing. They collected Roach and headed out. “Sorry about the lack of inn. Bet you are missing a bed about now.”

“Nope! I live for the road,” Jaskier said. “The smells, the sprained ankles, the cold, all of it is wonderful!”

“The weed isn’t supposed to effect sanity,” Geralt looked at him. “You hate all that stuff.”

“No, I don’t, because with you aren’t I?” Jaskier started whistling and walking ahead. “I think we should head…south.”

Geralt found himself agreeing, lost in thought, trying to understand Jaskier.


	4. Chapter 4

“Less snow, and we’ve changed direction,” Jaskier commented.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. He had a bow aimed, there was a deer walking nibbling at the grass that was starting to be seen through the snow. He released. “Meat tonight.” It was a clean kill. He walked over to it and there were know footsteps with him. Jaskier always appreciated the venison over the fire, but never had the stomach for this part. Geralt didn’t mind. He sliced open the deer, without cutting any organs and cut the good meat for them. It was a beautiful pelt, a tawny colour with speckles of white. He took the skin carefully; Geralt used to work pelts into objects, to while away the sheer amount of boredom of the road. Might take it up again. He took everything they needed and left the rest for the animals of the woods. Jaskier had the fire going well, an oilskin laid out with salt at hand. 

“Good,” Geralt said. “You remembered.”

“Come in handy a time or two,” Jaskier replied. Geralt gave him the meat that they wouldn’t eat that night, and Jaskier covered it in salt and wrapped it tightly. That would last them a good bit of time on the trip. He reached into his bag and out came a jar. He opened it and it smelled like heaven. “Bit of this on the meat and we feast like kings. Well better. Have you noticed how shitty the taste of kings is?”

“No, when I eat men, I prefer dukes,” Geralt answered. Even the bugs seemed to have gone silent. He waited for Jaskier to inch away, or his smell to change. Only he fell over laughing instead, and Geralt smiled. He had once been run out of a town for a similar joke.

“Dukes really, I find them sort of blah, give me a duchess any day.”

“Now them, I know you have eaten.”

“One!” Jaskier grinned, “A meal her husband never enjoyed. The foolish man.” He was still chuckling. It was a companionable air as they cooked and then ate the venison, and Jaskier pulled a small bottle from his bag. “This is special. Only a dram.”

Geralt was a bit intrigued, the smell was unfamiliar to him. And the glass that Jaskier gave him was almost absurdly small. “You gave a toddler’s cup.”

“Trust, even you can’t handle more than what I gave you.” Jaskier took half of what he had given Geralt. “A toast. To Ciri, because that is where we head isn’t it?”

“It is,” Geralt agreed and took a sip. He blinked. “What the fuck?”

“Mermaid’s tears. From back home. Triple the alcohol content of anything you’ve ever had before.” Jaskier drank his thimble’s worth, and shuddered a bit. “Was the first alcohol I ever tasted, knocked me right on my ass.”

Geralt finished his glass, and felt a warmth in his belly. “Impressive.” He realized something. “You never talk about home.” Jaskier talked about everything, but never that. He handed back the glass. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning home.”

“Of course I have, you just tune me out so much, you wouldn’t know.”

Geralt quickly thought over the decades of friendship. “No, you haven’t,” he said firmly.

“Geralt, I convinced you with a handful of words that it had been three years, not one. Are you sure you know what I have or haven’t told you?”

“You aren’t looking at me,” Geralt said. He watched Jaskier watch the fire. “Who do I need to kill?”

“You don’t keep people unless you can avoid it,” Jaskier reminded him. “That whole won’t be the monster they think?”

Geralt frowned. “It’s different if it is you.”

Jaskier shook his head. “You are forgiven, you know, you were months ago when we set out together again. You don’t have to be dramatic - that is my job.”

“You are deflecting.”

“They’re all dead anyways, and those that are left want nothing to do with me. I renounced my title, and was paid a fortune to do so.”

“Title?” Geralt paused. “Wait, that whole viscount thing wasn’t bullshit?” 

Jaskier snorted. “No, it wasn’t. But I was paid 800 Ducats to remove that title from myself.”

“So that’s where the money came from,” Geralt said. That was a fuck lot of money these days. Any days.

“Well, that is where it started and then it just sort of grew?” Jaskier scratched his cheek a bit. “There was a fairy, I impressed her, so the money sort of grows sometimes? When certain stars align? And then the university I went to, paid me a lot for the ownership of the song Toss a Coin, and a few others. Basically the year I never ever thought about you, was the best year of my life!”

Geralt was happy for Jaskier.

It didn’t at all turn the alcohol sour in his stomach that it seemed Jaskier was better off without him. “You should probably walk away then, if you want to keep that luck.”

“Too much luck has ruined a man. Bad luck always comes, and if it does, well better with you. You can kill the bad luck and all that.” Jaskier poked at the fire. “Which path are we exactly taking to Ciri and Yennefer? The one that takes us through Novigrad, or do we go the Isles way?”

“The Isles way, I don’t trust Novigrad,” Geralt replied. He grew tense at the way that Jaskier clapped his hands together and beamed. He was sure that announcement would lead to disappointment.

“Kaer Trolde, has one of the best leather workers in the lands. We’ll get you properly outfitted for picking up your daughter.”

Geralt looked down at his clothes. “These are the clothes she knows.”

“Those are the clothes I know. From when we met. Decades ago,” Jaskier said. “And you are not going to greet her in those.”

“Last time you dressed me, it went poorly.”

“Got you a daughter didn’t it?”

“I don’t think that is because of the shitty silk trader outfit you put me in.”

“No your being the biggest idiot ever did that one.” Jaskier waved a hand at him, “I’ll take the Law of Surprise! What idiot says that after everything they had just seen?”

“Fuck off,” Geralt snapped and scowled at the fire. “The clothes aren’t that bad.”

“She will have spent months with Yennefer and whatever other sorceress and warlock and whatnot have stopped by. People in the finest silks, the best makeup, impeccable. And you will be in clothes that have been worn when monsters have swallowed you whole. I suppose the contrast will make you stand out.” Jaskier smoothed down his jacket. “Not like I know anything about fashion.”

“You don’t,” Geralt pointed. “You look like a court jester.”

“I’m a court performer! Sometimes. I’m supposed to be flashy. I’m not going to dress you like me, you couldn’t pull this blue off. You’ll still look broody but just not…”

“Not what?”

“Well, even if you don’t look nice for Ciri, you’ll want to impress Yennefer.”

She did regularly comment on his clothes. How they dirtied up her floor when they were on them. He supposed it wouldn’t be bad to have a new set of clothes. “I can pay for my own clothes,” he said.

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can,” Geralt protested. “I have enough copper.”

“Why do you hate me?” Jaskier held his hand to his heart. “That you pain me so. Coppers for your clothes.” 

“Because more, when they just get ruined is foolish.”

“See, here is the thing…people tend to own more than one set of clothes. You could have a nice set, for seeing your daughter again, and the monster killing set.”

“I’m not people.”

“Save me,” Jaskier shouted to the heavens and a wolf howled in returned. “See even your brethren agree with me!”

“Fine,” Geralt agreed. He enjoyed the way that made Jaskier silent for a moment. “If you dress me in yellow, or blue, or anything you would wear I will kill you.”

“Trust me!” Jaskier said.

*

“And I’m going to kill you,” Geralt said and stepped forward. The three people in the all pressed against a wall and the stink of fear on them was annoying. “Not you,” he snapped. “Him.”

“It has yellow thread! That is hardly a murder thing,” Jaskier complained. Everyone else kept moving back and he pressed forward. “The tiniest bit of yellow thread on one corner, that no human eye would ever notice. And I swear to any god out there, Geralt, if you say you aren’t human, I will stab you.”

“With what?”

“With these!” Jaskier reached over to a table where there was a pin cushion and picked three needles out of it. “If I stab these into your eyeball or your scrotum, trust me it will hurt.”

“We agreed no yellow,” Geralt growled.

“Because god forbid what, that someone other than a whore or me will notice you are an attractive man? The horror!” Jaskier was starting to get that feral, manic look he did sometimes. But to be fair they had been in the shop for a couple hours now. It seemed getting clothes to fit Geralt’s shoulders and thighs was a difficult task. A lot of what had been pulled out was simply not acceptable in Geralt mind. One had been red for fuck’s sake, and no matter than Jaskier argued red was good because it would hide the blood, it was far too bold, when Geralt had already decided to be fairly bold.

He had conceded that he would wear dark grey, for fuck’s sake. They had brought out a black shirt that yes, fit better than any he had ever had before, but there was that yellow thread.

“Nothing could make a witcher attractive,” Geralt heard the one woman whisper to another.

“I put him in those leather pants. Trust me one thing could make him attractive,” she answered back. 

“Yes, yes, the White Wolf has a giant cock, puts everyone to shame, but we need to focus on what this shirt is doing for his equally giant shoulders,” Jaskier called. “And suggest again that he is unattractive, and I will write a song so compelling about how horrible this shop is you’ll be out of business in a month.”

Geralt felt heat rise on his cheeks. Fuck, he didn’t think his blood pumped fast enough for him to blush, but there they were. In the most awkward conversation he had ever been in. Wonderful. “Fine, the yellow thread is fine. Can you pay and we leave now?”

Jaskier was glaring a bit at the one woman. “Hmmm, yes, we can. You’ll have another shirt, in dark grey sewn up for the morning?”

“Of course sir,” the owner said swiftly. “And a belt, on me.”

“So kind. Is the bath house, two blocks over still as good as it ever was?” Jaskier asked.

“Indeed,” the owner agreed. “Tell them I sent you over, they’ll treat you right.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier gave a deep bow and paused. “Ohhh look at that purple sash. I’ll pick that up tomorrow too.”

“Wonderful,” the owner agreed.

“Come along, Geralt,” Jaskier said over his shoulder and Geralt was following him out.

“Seems the White Wolf heels like a pup, and to that one at that. Who would have thought?”

Geralt ignored that. He wasn’t heeling, and he hadn’t been a pup in a very very long time. The bath house smelled overwhelming. Far too many fragrances and he was just done with the day. 

“No,” Jaskier said firmly. “You need this.”

“I -”

“Not one fucking word,” Jaskier snapped. “Because I need this too.” He went to the desk and spoke to a person. He was handed towels and a key. He dragged Geralt through the building. Well, Geralt let him drag. If Geralt didn’t want to move, Jaskier sure as hell wouldn’t move him. They went upstairs and it grew quieter. They went into a room at the end of the hall and he breathed in. The scents were all still there, but muted. This room felt clean. 

The room was mostly just a tub and a few benches. A cabinet. Jaskier pulled a string and a spout began to pour into the tub, the water steaming hot. “The hot springs,” Geralt realized.

“Piped in directly. Medicinal properties, a nice aroma, big enough for both of us to get the road off our skin.”

“It will be a week until we reach them, the road will get back on our skin,” Geralt pointed out. 

“So don’t get in the bath, go sit on the bench there and be grumpy.” Jaskier began to strip down. He then reached into his bag and pulled out the bath stuff that Geralt liked. The scent perfect as always and Geralt was naked and in the water in a few moments. “Lummox,” Jaskier said and fondness dripped from the word. He finished undressing and slid into the water. “Fuck, that feels like heaven.”

“You could be having baths every day, but you’ve stayed on the road with me.”

“Comfort, wealth, women at my fingers tips? Gets boring.”

Geralt just looked at him. Because none of that would be boring to Jaskier. “Really,” he added when Jaskier wasn’t saying anymore.

“You’re the only person in the world who needs me,” Jaskier said finally. 

“I don’t need -” Geralt stopped saying his automatic response. He cleared his throat. Jaskier was watching him, waiting. “You are a reckless, absurd, vain, pain in the ass.”

“You are an idiot, emotionally constipated, and a fucking disaster,” Jaskier snapped back.

They smiled at each other. “I don’t need anyone,” Geralt said, “But I suppose I am used to you, and am glad you are around.”

“Say I’m your very best friend in the whole wide world and I’ll come over there and wash your hair, and give you a scalp massage.”

He would never tell the bastard how much he enjoyed that. Though it didn’t seem like he had to, the man knew well enough. “You,” Geralt had to clear his throat. “You aren’t wholly repellent.”

“Good enough,” Jaskier agreed. He pushed at Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt went under the water and came back up. Jaskier set to tending his hair, humming a soft song, a very old lullaby. His fingers always surprised Geralt with how rough they were, music calluses as strong as sword ones, just in different places. There was a bit of tugging as Jaskier got the crap and knots out of his hair and then something was poured and massaged into his scalp, and it was the first proper time Jaskier had done this since they had gotten back together.

Since they had started traveling together again. Back together made it sound like a mended relationship. Something more than they were. He forgot all his thoughts though as Jaskier began to massage his scalp.

Geralt would die before he would admit that a purr noise came out of his throat. They were quiet, Jaskier tending to him. “I did miss this,” Geralt finally said.

“Of course you did, I’m the only person you let touch you that you aren’t fucking.”

Geralt frowned, because that couldn’t be true. He let people touch him. “Ciri,” he said and waited to add to the list. “Triss.” Though he wasn’t sure if that quite counted because if Triss suggested he would thrown down, she was gorgeous and smelled nice. “Fuck.” He wasn’t that bad, was he? “There have to be more.”

“Nope, just me. Because I’m special.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He didn’t say what he was thinking because if he did then Jaskier might stop. Eventually though they had both scrubbed down, the water loosened muscles they didn’t even know were tense, and Geralt was growing hungry. They dressed and went to the inn. The stew was filling, the ale crisp. It was one of the better days that Geralt could remember.

Someone recognized Jaskier as a bard and called for him to sing. Not that it was hard the way with the way Jaskier was practically waving the lute around. Geralt leaned back in his chair with a fresh mug and listened to Jaskier sing. He was almost smiling. A barmaid came over, that reckless smell on her of someone who wanted to fuck a witcher because they were a witcher. He shook his head before she could flirt and she wandered away, disappointed. He watched her whisper to someone and they looked at him. Well, this was going to go poorly. The woman went to the barkeep and he was frowning at whatever she said. “Well, shit.” He caught Jaskier’s eye and signaled him over. Geralt was guessing they would have to make a quick exit.

He wondered what story she had told.

The barkeep came over. “Nellie said you were talking to yourself, muttering weird incantations. You can’t stay here,” the man said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine,” Geralt replied. He stood up. He just wanted Jaskier to have a comfortable bed for the night, but he wasn’t going to start any problems.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier said. “He doesn’t say weird incantations. He does magic in battle when necessary and that’s it. Haven’t you heard the song Witchers and their Witchiness? I lay it out quite clearly in there.”

“Tell me you didn’t actually name a song that,” Geralt groaned. “That is the worst title ever.”

“Wasn’t actually the title, what people started calling it. Let me guess turned a barmaid down, and now I’m going to have more rumours I fight with song? Seriously Geralt, make my job easier with your dick please.”

“I wasn’t in the mood,” Geralt replied.

“Nellie is a good girl, wouldn’t want to fuck a mutant monster like you,” the man replied.

Fuck, Jaskier was getting his feral look again. This was going to spiral.

“Excuse me?” Jaskier stepped forward and poked the man in the chest. “What is wrong with monster fucking?”

Geralt closed his eyes, taking just a moment. “Jaskier.”

“No! There is not a damn thing wrong with monster fucking, if the monster is you.” Jaskier picked up Geralt’s mug, and threw the contents in the man’s face. “You can hang for insulting the goddamn White Wolf. He’s totally a monster anyone would want to fuck.” 

The man went to throw a punch at Jaskier, and Geralt had to stop that. Which he did. And then a whole brawl began. And Jaskier crowed and was apparently ready to dive in. Geralt picked up the lute, and Jaskier and they made a swift exit. 

“Let me teach that monster a lesson!” Jaskier shouted and kicked.

“Oh, are you going to fuck him, since you seem to be into monster fucking now?” Geralt snapped and did not put Jaskier down until they were at the stable. “Up,” he said, and Jaskier climbed to the hay loft and they settled in above Roach who snorted a bit at them. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier replied. “I just get tired of people trying to undo all the hard work I’ve spent decades on making you not seem like a nightmare.”

“I am a nightmare.”

“Oh shut up, you just need sleep. I swear all your grr arg is because of the fact of how tired you always seem to be.”

“Only sleep well when you are near,” Geralt replied unthinkingly. 

“Well, yeah…so…very well…good. Night then,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt wouldn’t sleep for a few hours yet, just lay there in the hay, and listened to Jaskier’s awkward breathing until it leveled out and he was asleep. 

It had been a weird fucking day.


	5. Chapter 5

“I hate to point this out, but we’ve just been stopped for an hour?” Jaskier was sitting on a boulder. “And you’ve been pacing. Do you need to shit and can’t?”

Geralt glared at him. “Fuck off.”

“Upset stomach, headache? Contemplating man’s place in the universe?” Geralt stilled his pacing for just the barest of moments, and began to move again. It was far too brief a pause for Jaskier to have noticed. “Wait, are you actually contemplating man’s existence?”

“No,” Geralt snapped and kept moving about. He was anxious enough he started to swing about the daggers Jaskier bought him, moving through paces he had been practicing since he was eight. They always calmed his mind. 

Except today it seemed.

“I am getting dizzy watching you.”

“So close your eyes,” Geralt replied. Fuck this wasn’t working at all. He needed something to kill. They could head back…somewhere, return to here in a few weeks. What difference would a few weeks make anyways? He was about to suggest it, when Jaskier stood and held out his hand. “What?”

“Put the stabby things away, and take my hand.”

“Why?”

“Because if you are going to dance on the side of the road like a buffoon, you may as well dance.” Jaskier began to sing a bunch of La notes, and that hand was just hovering in the air.

“I’m not dancing with you.”

“Why not?” Jaskier bowed low. “Oh right, you don’t know how to dance. Witchers don’t dance. Foolish frippery.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Geralt looked at him. He put the daggers away and took the hand. “If dagger pattern three didn’t distract me, how will this?” He took Jaskier’s hand and they walked forward a few steps and then back again, Jaskier humming, occasionally singing. They both turned and met in the middle. “I can dance.”

“Haven’t seen you do it in how many decades?”

“You are seeing it now,” Geralt replied. He did have to concentrate though, he hadn’t done this in…he hadn’t done this, but he had been at enough royal parties to have seen this pattern and be able to copy it. He stumbled a couple times, but thought he was doing a credible job. And oddly enough he found himself relaxing. They spun around and they hit a point where Geralt was sure he was supposed to do something with his arms. “What’s next?” he asked.

Jaskier smiled. “Well, this would be the part you would pick me up by the waist but -”

Geralt remembered and picked Jaskier up, fairly easily, the man was more fit than his clothes suggested, but still he weighed less than a deer. He spun thrice and put him down again. He stepped back and then forward. They finished the dance and Geralt sighed. “What if Ciri doesn’t want to leave with me? It has been months, and she could have settled, her and Yennefer bonded.”

“Good lord, dancing actually got you to express your real feelings? Is this why you have never done it? Is dancing a truth serum for Witchers?” Jaskier teased. 

Geralt sat down on the boulder. “Jaskier, what would she want with me, other than the fact that we’re bound by destiny. Yennefer is complicated, but she would have worshiped Ciri. The things that Yennefer can teach her.” Geralt shook his head. “Maybe -”

“No,” Jaskier said, and all teasing was gone from his voice. “The are things that Yennefer can teach her, many many scary things. But there are things you can teach her as well. Your own scary things. And good things too. What she knows of power, she knows from Calanthe, and from Yennefer. And that is somewhat good, she’ll need their iron will, their fuck you I’m in charge attitude. But she needs more than that. She needs your power.”

“I’m a mutant.”

“Fuck, this again?” Jaskier huffed. “You, Geralt of Rivia, Lord of Repressed Emotions, King of Few Words, she needs your gentleness.”

“My what now?” Geralt stared at him. “Jaskier, did you take a tree branch to the head?” He was honestly worried about his companion’s sanity. No one, ever, had called him gentle.

“You are shit with emotions, because your slow beating heart is too vast for you to be comfortable with. It is so fucking huge all your Witcher training couldn’t break its desire to be gentle, its caring. And she needs that, the how to be strong, to be a fucking mountain, but one that isn’t cold, one that protects all who walk its path.”

“That was stupid.”

“Yes, well, you just danced beside the road with me because you were scared of a young woman, and if she won’t like you enough. So who is the stupid one, hmm?”

Geralt went to Roach and pulled the deer pelt out of his saddle bag. He had been working it in the evenings, and he thought it looked good, but fuck if she would. “I made this for her. For traveling.” He showed it to Jaskier. “For her…woman things.” Well that sounded just awful. “I mean, whatever she’d like to keep personal.” It was a small satchel, and his stitching wasn’t bad, considering he was mostly used to stitching himself together than a gift. But the hide had tanned smooth, the fur combed again and again so it lay flat and silky. It had a flap that tied down and a long strap so it could go cross wise over her body. “Yennefer probably already has far better for her, if she even wants to travel.”

“Geralt, she’ll love it,” Jaskier swore, and Geralt believed him. “And this shows maybe your haven’t completely bottled up your emotions. Now are you ready to stop dithering like a bard who needs to decide what to wear for a queen?”

“There is a festival dance in Cintra for the spring. Do you know it?” Geralt could only remember bits of it. “She might like to dance some night by the fire.”

“She might indeed,” Jaskier agreed. “Come on then.” Geralt listened and watched carefully and they practiced a couple times. “Good,” Jaskier praised and that warmed Geralt deep inside.

“Let’s go then,” Geralt said gruffly. They walked together, Roach ambling behind them. They took the path that lead to Yennefer’s home. It was hard to describe, every time you looked at it, you were sure something was different. It was on a bit of a rise, with a good view in all directions. Not a full keep, but large for one woman and Ciri. But Yennefer’s magic was often in high demand and guests visited. And Yennefer liked space. 

The approached and the door opened. Ciri came running out and then paused a few feet away from them. 

She had grown.

She was perfect.

They just stared at each other.

“Lords above, this is more painful than I expected,” Jaskier muttered. Geralt felt the nudge forward that Jaskier pressed against his back. “You say hello,” he hissed.

“Hello,” Geralt said. “You cut your hair.”

“I spilled some potion on it, that didn’t go well,” Ciri explained. “Do you hate it?”

“No, it suits you,” he said. It just was touching her shoulders now, and the waves were almost curls. “You are gorgeous, Ciri.”

“Thank you. You don’t look as icky as Yennefer said you would.”

Jaskier snorted at that. Geralt watched him step forward. “My lady, it is my privilege and honour to meet you. I am Julian Alfred Pankratz, Jaskier to my friends, and your humble servant.”

“You write the songs about Geralt!” She looked delighted. “Yennefer told me about you.”

Oh, that might have not gone well. “He is my -” Why could Geralt never say friend with ease. He should practice in a mirror or something.

“He is your beloved companion,” Ciri filled in.

“My what?” Geralt blinked and looked at Jaskier, who just sort of frowned and shrugged, equally lost. 

“I told Ciri that you two were beloved companions, without whom you would both wither away, soulless, longing only to be together,” Yennefer said coming up behind Ciri. “I made it all quite beautiful and tragic. Didn’t actually expect he’d be here with you. Hello, Jaskier. You look, actually you look a lot better than I expected.”

“Rich, Yennefer, it does wonders for the complexion. Sort of like how swallowing souls helps yours.” 

Geralt moved over to Ciri and gently pulled her back. “They love to hate other,” he explained. “Better to let them snipe for a few minutes. It is how they say they missed each other.”

“He doesn’t look like stale bread,” Ciri whispered.

“No, he doesn’t.” Geralt took the saddlebags off Roach. “Where can I bed her?”

“I’ll show you,” Ciri said quickly. 

They walked away and Geralt honestly wasn’t sure that Jaskier and Yennefer noticed, so happily arguing with each other. It really was a hobby for them. He got Roach settled and he and Ciri still weren’t talking. Geralt took a deep breath and handed her the satchel. “I made this for you, for when we start traveling soon.”

She took it, ran her hand over the fur. “So, you do want me to travel with you?” Ciri bit her lip.

“Of course I do,” Geralt said. He paused. “Unless you are happy here with Yennefer. I am sure you are settled and would be happier staying with a woman.”

“No!” Ciri almost shouted and Roach huffed a bit. Geralt ran a soothing hand down Roach’s nose. “No, it’s just Yennefer has been warning me that you might not want me along, to not get my hopes up.”

He hated Yennefer for doing that even if he completely understood why she had. “I want to travel with you, teach you whatever it is I can teach you.” He looked at her. “I thought we could maybe wind our way to Kaer Morhen. I could show you where I grew up, trained.”

“You want to take me home,” she said and Geralt nodded. He held open his arms just as he did the first time they saw each other in the woods and she moved into his embrace. He held her close.

“I really like the bag,” she whispered against his chest.

“I am glad,” he replied. He squeezed her as tightly as he dared. “Will you mind if Jaskier travels with us? He seems to be in a sticking around cycle right now.”

“No, Yennefer said he would show up at some point, he always does when he needs you because he messed up.” Ciri wrinkled her nose a bit. “I think she was teasing when she said that.”

“She was,” Geralt said, because that was the easiest way to explain it. “He’ll make the traveling more fun. An adventure.” Geralt had no doubt that they would enjoy each other’s company. “I also have daggers for you.”

“Grandmother didn’t want me learning daggers. They are a weak weapon. Swords are the correct tool.”

“We’ll work up to swords eventually. But I rely on daggers a great deal. I’ll show you.”

“I can shoot a bow!” Ciri stepped away and his arms felt a bit bereft. “A crossbow.”

“I’d love to watch you shoot,” Geralt said sincerely.

“We’re having a feast tonight, Yennefer said the portents all promised your arrival today.”

“That will be enjoyable.”

“How long before we travel?”

“I was thinking a week or so,” Geralt said. “There is no rush.” Well there might be one rush. “So long as Yennefer and Jaskier don’t bicker the roof down.” Geralt doubted there was a more perfect sound in the world than Ciri’s laugh. “We should check on them.” He didn’t trust Yennefer not to curse Jaskier, and Jaskier to not find that one small chink in Yennefer’s armor and exploit it.

He held up an arm and Ciri tucked under it, still carefully holding the bag he had made her. He grabbed the saddlebags and they left the stable. They went into the keep and Ciri lead him to his rooms, not that he had forgotten where they were. He could hear Jaskier moving about in the room across the hall. Good.

Geralt had a bath, and dressed in the new clothes that Jaskier had bought him. Yennefer had smirked a little at the sight and raised a brow. He shrugged and nodded a little. The meal was indeed a feast and Ciri talked almost as much as Jaskier usually did about everything that Yennefer and sometimes Triss had taught her over the winter. She was so excited and proud of everything she had learned, and Yennefer was looking at Ciri with an indulgent and fond look.

It had been good for them, being together over the winter. 

Yennefer groaned when Ciri asked Jaskier to play for them, but he sang a few of jaunty songs from Cintra that made Ciri beam and sing along a few times. She was far too old to be tucked in, but eventually she left them, kissing Geralt’s cheek as she left. Once she was gone, Yennefer broke out a rich whisky for the three of them and they drank.

“How many attempts on her life?” Geralt asked.

“Three, only one was of any consequence,” Yennefer replied, “And he was dispatched in a..dramatic fashion to make it clear the price of going near the lion cub.”

“Good,” Geralt nodded. 

“Nice clothes by the way.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said. “He fussed about the expense.”

“Of course he did,” Yennefer smirked. “But they’ll look good on my floor. Now.”

Geralt smiled at her. “Night, Jaskier.”

“Night,” Jaskier replied. “Don’t swallow his soul too much.”

“No promises,” Yennefer held out a hand and Geralt took it. It was a pleasurable few hours, and he returned to his rooms. He washed down with the pitcher of water provided and a cloth. The bed was as comfortable as he remembered, Yennefer was better than he remembered, and Ciri was everything he had hoped she would be. But something was wrong. He lay there for an hour before he sighed. Fuck.

He grabbed his pillow and blanket and went across the hall to Jaskier’s room. Jaskier was snoring away and Geralt settled on the ground. He was asleep barely minutes later.


	6. Chapter 6

They were standing on Yennefer’s balcony, and watching Ciri and Jaskier. Ciri was practicing with her crossbow, Jaskier was playing songs from Cintra. They would be leaving soon, a couple more days he thought. Ciri and Jaskier were getting along incredibly well, which would make the journey easier.

“He can’t travel with you,” Yennefer said, next to him.

Geralt looked at her. “What?” She could not be serious. He tried to read her face, but she was as controlled as ever. “Of course he is traveling with us.”

“He doesn’t age, Geralt. He is supposedly human, and decades and not a grey hair, no crow’s feet no matter how I tease, nothing. He looks almost exactly the same. The clothes are better, but himself - he is the same.” Yennefer was watching Ciri run over and hug Jaskier before heading back to her practice. “And he won’t say why. That can’t be around Ciri. I don’t trust him traveling with her.”

“Jaskier would never hurt her.”

“Unless whatever it is that keeps him young demands it of him?” Yennefer said. “He is a risk.”

Geralt scowled, “He is Jaskier, the only risk he poses is to my ears.” He watched as Jaskier tried with the crossbow, and somehow shot the barn and not the targets that he was only a few feet from. “See!”

“And all the times he has been apart from you?” Yennefer countered. “What does he do then? What is he doing to sustain his life?”

“You make him sound like a vampire. He is standing in the sun right now.” Geralt looked at her. “He would never hurt her,” he repeated. He was certain of only a few things in this world, and that was one of them. “He will travel with us.”

“No.”

Geralt pressed forward, and she didn’t step back a bit, because she was Yennefer and fearless. He adored that about her - when it didn’t piss him off. “He can teach her so much, different things than you or I. They have become fast friends in just five days. Ciri would be heartbroken.”

“Ciri, or you?” Yennefer asked with a raised brow. “This isn’t the time to think with your cock, Geralt. You have to think of what is best for her.”

Geralt stepped back in shock. “What are you on about?” That made no sense at all. “If I was thinking with my cock, I’d be agreeing with you.” He frowned at her. “I don’t understand.” While that was often the case around Yennefer, this was a different sort of confusion.

“Oh please,” Yennefer snapped. “I don’t have time for your bullshit and secrets. That monster isn’t traveling with her!” she shouted.

“Yes, he is!” Geralt roared back.

“You know we can hear you right?” Jaskier called up and Geralt looked down. Ciri looked nervous watching the only people she had left in the world fighting. Jaskier just looked annoyed. “And here is an idea, just a small one, since I certainly don’t have the acumen of a learned woman like Yennefer.” His smile switched to razor sharp and Geralt snorted a bit. Jaskier never shut up about the university he went to and sometimes taught at. Yennefer was clearly ready to immolate Jaskier, and Geralt moved forward a hand on one of his daggers. “You could try asking me,” Jaskier glared at them. “You know a question that maybe would be of interest to people who aren’t as self involved as the two of you.” He flipped them off and stormed away.

“You’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight,” Yennefer said.

“I’ve been on the floor every night,” Geralt replied. He frowned. “How did you know I was in his room?”

“Please. And please do not share whatever kinky rules you two have going on. Go fix this.”

“This is your fault, you should fix it,” Geralt said. 

“I need to comfort Ciri. Fighting worries her.”

Geralt opened his mouth, and knew that the words that would spill out would be pure bile and entirely false. Because it was clear that Yennefer loved Ciri, and would be hurting at their parting. He snapped his jaw closed and stormed off the balcony. In the courtyard Ciri was carefully putting her weapons away. He paused to go over to her. “It is fine.”

“Is he really immortal?” she asked.

“You even heard the beginning of the conversation?” Geralt inwardly cursed. “We were too far away.”

“I have sharp hearing, and the wind brought your words to us. When he realized I could hear you, Jaskier stopped playing and listened as well. The conversation hurt him.”

“Yennefer is wrong.”

Ciri shook her head. “You too.”

“I was defending him.” Geralt was puzzled. He had been loudly defending Jaskier and his role in Ciri’s life. There was no way that he could be upset.

“You hurt him, and you should say you are sorry.”

“I don’t -” Geralt shut up as she glared at him. In her eyes he could see Calanthe. Only Ciri was using that strength not to tear down worlds, but to mend her family. Geralt kissed her head. “All will be well.” 

She nodded. “I am going to miss here.”

“You don’t have to come with us,” Geralt said. It would kill him if she didn’t come along.

“I want to see the world with you,” she said firmly. “I want to see your home. But only if you make this right.”

“I will,” Geralt swore, though he wasn’t sure how. He supposed the best start was talking to Jaskier. He followed the way that the bard had stormed off, and the scent of his anger and frustration was easy enough to follow. Geralt didn’t rush, a few more strides and he could see Jaskier sitting on the slope of the hill, plucking flowers, tearing the petals off. Geralt sat next to him, stared into space. It was an uncomfortable quiet, but he was sure sooner or later Jaskier would talk. Only he just kept plucking the flowers and weeds around him.

Well, Geralt could out wait him. He could sit silently for 30 hours waiting for a monster to appear. The longest Jaskier could go without talking wasn’t even 30 minutes. This was easy.

By the fifth flower that Jaskier mutilated without saying a word, Geralt cracked. “You are traveling with us.” Jaskier didn’t even look up from his task. Fuck, Ciri couldn’t be right, could she? “I know you wouldn’t hurt her.” Still not a single response. “You aren’t a monster.” That got a pause before Jaskier started pulling apart another flower. “I’m…sorry?” Ciri said to say that, and even though he had no clue why he was saying it, it couldn’t hurt.

Jaskier threw the petals in his face, and one went up his nose enough to cause a sneezing fit. So it hurt a little.

“How long have we known each other, Witcher?”

Geralt loathed when Jaskier said Witcher in that dispassionate way. A title rather than a person. It was how everyone else responded to him. Not Jaskier. “I don’t know. A while.”

Jaskier snorted. “A while. Almost twenty five years, Geralt. People think they lived a good life if they make it to sixty. And I’m in my forties now. Well into them. By normal standards, I’d only travel with you a few more years, and be dead a few more after that.”

Geralt felt a pain somewhere in the vicinity of his slow beating heart. “No,” he said.

Jaskier snorted. “You’ve never asked, hey Jaskier, bit weird that you don’t age. Are you something that usually I’d be killing? Because you never once fucking noticed. Yennefer did, and she generally tries to pretend I don’t even exist. But years, you didn’t ask, not because you were polite, or didn’t want to know the answer, but because you never once fucking noticed. Because you never cared enough to give a damn.” He went back to tearing flowers and staring out at nothing.

Geralt just watched Jaskier.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, meaning it this time.

“I don’t fucking care,” Jaskier snapped. “Because you know what, Yennefer is right.”

Now that was a sentence he never expected to hear, and Geralt honestly looked around for a the world to break open that Jaskier said thus. “Huh?”

“She is right to be protective of Ciri. You are right, that I would never hurt her. But she is right to be concerned about a thing she doesn’t understand being near her daughter.”

“My daughter,” Geralt replied. He paused. “Our daughter.”

“Aren’t the three of you just a family for the ages. The Witcher, the Sorceress, the Future Queen.” Jaskier laughed a bit. “A tale even I wouldn’t write, sounds far too fantastical.”

“You forgot the Bard,” Geralt said. “He is an important part of the story.”

“No, as you so clearly have demonstrated over the years, he isn’t. Maybe I should go back to the university.”

Geralt’s slow blood froze in his veins. “You can’t leave Ciri. She is eager to travel with you.”

“She’ll forget me soon enough. We barely know each other.”

“You can’t leave me,” Geralt said quietly.

“You’ll forget me soon enough.”

“I never forget you.” Geralt couldn’t look at Jaskier. “I’ve aged. Some, slowly, so slowly that it is hard to remember what aging feels like. And I am surrounded by others who are the same. And everyone else. I never stay anywhere long enough to see them age. Or I see them and then again a decade later and they look different and I remember mortality. But it is always remote. People are mostly one age to me, because they never want me around long enough to see them as different. So, no, I guess I never thought about your aging or lack of it. Because if I did, then it meant I’d have to know that one day we wouldn’t run into each other again.”

“That was utter bullshit.”

Geralt snorted and pushed him a bit. Jaskier threw more of the petals at his face. “Jaskier, why the fuck haven’t you aged?”

“That’s easy. I perform, every three years, an evil ritual under the dark of the new moon. It involves virgin’s blood, and a single hair of a -”

“Shut up,” Geralt said.

“It might.”

“You could never find a virgin’s blood because you’d just as likely deflower them, rendering the blood useless.”

“Too true, too true,” Jaskier said. “If I gave you my word it was nothing evil, and that Ciri was safe with me, would you trust me?”

“Jaskier, I can be with you without a weapon within reach.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“With everyone else, even Yennefer, hell especially Yennefer, but any bed partner, any gathering, any other person, I can have my hand on a dagger or my sword in an instant. With you, I will go weaponless. Because I know I am safe.”

“Oh.” Jaskier was looking at him. He smiled slowly, a soft and small smile. Another new one, that Geralt didn’t recognize. “Well then. I accept.”

“Accept what?” Geralt matched Jaskier’s smile with a frown.

“Never mind.” Jaskier stood and held out a hand as if Geralt needed help up. Geralt just smacked it away and stood. “After Ciri is in bed, you, Yennefer and I will talk.”

“You could tell me now,” Geralt tried to cajole, because now that the thought was in his head, he was a bit curious about the answer.

“I could,” Jaskier agreed, and walked back to the keep whistling.

“Tell me,” Geralt called after him. Jaskier just flipped him off.

*

Yennefer had poured them the whisky, and Geralt held the cup in his hand, his skin warming the drink.

“You’ll want to pour a fourth,” Jaskier said.

“Why?” Yennefer asked.

They watched Jaskier sketch a symbol on the table, and soon it began to glow. A portal opened and a severe woman walked through.

“Tissaia,” Yennefer blinked in surprise. “Why are you here?”

“Because Jaskier called, and I always answer my friends, Yennefer.” 

“Friends?” Geralt and Yennefer said at the same time. Geralt was pleased that Yennefer sounded as shocked as him. Nothing ever shocked the woman, it was nice to see her nonplussed.

Jaskier got up and poured a dram for Tissaia, who kissed his cheek in greeting when he brought her the drink. “Friend,” Tissaia said and sipped the whisky. “They finally decided to ask?”

“They did,” Jaskier said. “And Geralt would take me at my word.”

Tissaia rolled her eyes a bit, “Obviously. But Yennefer wouldn’t.”

“Why should I trust him?” Yennefer countered. “A bard, even one as rubbish as him, is a liar.”

“You could have put truth in his voice with the herbs in your workroom,” Tissaia pointed out.

“I killed the last witch who drugged him,” Geralt snarled. “No matter how much I care for Yennefer, I would do the same to her.”

“You could try, and I would burn you where you stand.”

“And this is the family raising a queen. Thank the gods she’ll have your influence, Jaskier.”

“You don’t like anybody, you are worse than Geralt,” Yennefer was staring at Tissaia and Jaskier. In horror, and a bit of jealousy, Geralt thought.

“No, I like many people, most just don’t see it.”

“I’m used to cold people,” Jaskier said cheerfully. “Anyways, I figured if you told them, they’d believe you.”

Tissaia nodded. “He is not aging through no fault of his own.” She finished her whisky. “Lovely to see you, Jaskier. Come to visit when you can.” She stood to leave.

“That is not enough,” Yennefer snapped. Geralt was relieved that she did so, because he wanted to know, but knew Jaskier wouldn’t tell him, out of revenge, or principle, or something. “I need to know how.”

“Why?”

“Because he might be a threat to Ciri.”

Tissaia had an impressive derisive snort, honestly it was better than his, and Geralt had been working on that noise for decades. But for all he knew, she had been making it for centuries. “He is no threat to the princess,” Tissaia promised. “His immortality is not of his making, and may undo itself in time, but it is of no consequence, and does no harm.”

“I need more!” Yennefer stood up, and slammed her hands on the table.

“You always do,” Tissaia said. “You look to the wrong people for answers here.” Tissaia glanced at Geralt. “He is the one who has made Jaskier immortal, ask him how it is thus.” Tissaia kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “Come visit, I would welcome your voice in my halls, and the girls always enjoy your visits.” Tissaia disappeared shortly after.

Geralt felt Yennefer’s glare like lava being poured on his skin, and Jaskier looked far too happy. “I haven’t made you immortal.” Geralt would fucking remember doing that to someone. Point of fact he couldn’t do that to someone. “She is wrong.”

“Tissaia is a bitch, but she’s never wrong,” Yennefer said. She chanted and Geralt felt her magic pushing at him, pulling something from him. He swatted it away, but not soon enough because Yennefer started to laugh. He had never heard her laugh like that before. “Gods above, that is the answer?” She was clutching her side and couldn’t breathe. “Jaskier, do you actually know?”

“Know what? I was worried about how I wasn’t aging ten years ago and I went to the college of magic and arts. Tissaia herself examined me, researched, and just told me it was Geralt’s fault, but it was all fine and to not worry about it. That eventually one of you would ask and I was to call her and she’d explain.” Jaskier shrugged. “Stayed a while, wrote a few songs.”

Geralt thought about it. “The Dark Witch of Dream and Promise,” he said.

“You know that song?” Jaskier beamed at him. “Wrote that for her, when she didn’t this ritual thing. Terrifying, brilliant. Not one of the more popular ones. Scares people.”

“I like that one,” Geralt said. Yennefer was still laughing. “What is the answer then?” 

She waved to indicate he should shut up. “So you don’t actually know, other than it is my fault?” he addressed to Jaskier.

“No, that was good enough for me, I didn’t dig any deeper. All of my adult life is your fault, why should that be any different?”

“It is your fault for following.”

“Or we could say it is your fault for letting me follow.”

“Stop, you two have to stop, or I’ll piss myself.” Every time Yennefer tried to control her laughter, she was set off again. “I have no objections to Jaskier traveling with you.” She stumbled from the room.

“I think she finally went properly mad,” Jaskier said. “Well, then.” He drank her whisky.

Geralt could not process this. “I made you immortal?”

Jaskier just shrugged. “I mean no? I can die, Tissaia said, I’ll just age the same rate as you, which is what barely anything?”

“Your room is at Kaer Morhen, they must have said something.”

“They all just sort of nodded? And took me in. Nice men, lots of stories to tell.” Jaskier was grinning. “Many about you. Young you.”

Geralt paled a bit at what Jaskier might have heard. And he wondered at Jaskier finding such a welcome there. It was good that traveling home was part of his plans with Ciri. There proper answers could be found. But now he needed to think. “Good night, Jaskier.” He went to his chamber and paced for a while. He decided to go to Yennefer but when he knocked on her door she just started laughing again, so he guessed a decent fuck was off the table for the night. He went back to his chamber and wanked, but was still restless. He waited a bit longer, and went to Jaskier’s room and settled in on the ground where he had been all week. He stared at the dying fire. Fuck he wanted to be on the road. But he had promised Ciri a couple more days.

Everything would make sense on the road, it always did.

“You should at least bring your pallet, the floor has to be murder on your back.”

“The cockatrice corpse I carried on my back was murder, this is fine.”

“Just get up here, all Yennefer’s beds are giant.”

Geralt stood and rounded the bed. It was huge. He slid in on the other side and felt his whole body relax. “You’ll miss this bed, be complaining within two nights on the road,” Geralt said.

“Of course I will,” Jaskier said, yawned. “But I am still looking forward to it.”

“I am as well,” Geralt said. As he fell asleep he swore he could still hear Yennefer laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

“Yennefer, enough, I can’t actually carry anymore in my potion bag,” Geralt said. He had put seven vials in, along with his usual supplies which she had replenished as best she could without knowing all the Witcher secrets. And then she started handing him things for Ciri. In case she got sick, or had cramps, or went full evil, and a few other things besides. “Yennefer, I know how to make poultices, and take care of people.”

“She isn’t people,” Yennefer snapped.

“I know,” Geralt pulled Yennefer close and kissed her, sank into the taste and feel of her as he always did. “I can’t say I will get this right, but I will give her everything.” He pulled her against his chest, held her close. “And like you won’t stop by.”

“No, I won’t. This is your time with her. I’ll be at Kaer Morhen for the fall solstice to bring her back here. Raise her well, Geralt. Undo all my work, and I’ll unman you.”

Geralt smiled. “Understood.”

“Good,” Yennefer nodded. “I’m going to help her finish packing.”

“She needs to pack light,” Geralt reminded her. “We have one horse.”

“Oh, please. Like I didn’t buy her a pretty gelding.” Yennefer said. 

Geralt thought of the stables, and the grey horse he had noticed. “Fuck,” he groaned. He needed to go see if it was actually a decent horse for their journey. He headed to the stables and nodded to Roach and saw the other horse. “Hello,” he said softly. “You are to travel with us.” He held out a hand and the horse sniffed at him. Geralt stepped into the stable and assessed the horse. He actually was a decent horse. Good eyes, strong legs. Not huge, but sturdy. “You will do,” he said and pat the horse’s flank. 

He stepped out into the light, and Jaskier was there with his bag, idly strumming the lute. Geralt looked in the barn at the two horses. Shit. He moved forward. “Jaskier?”

“All ready to go, at the appointed time,” Jaskier swore. “Which was are we headed?”

Geralt looked at the sky and thought. “East and do a huge circle down, then back up, meander towards home.”

“Sounds good.”

“We could stop at the coast,” Geralt found himself saying. “If you have a particular spot you’d like to go to.” He remembered Jaskier mentioning it on that fateful dragon hunt.

“I do. I think you’ll hate it. But she’ll love it.”

“That is good enough for me,” Geralt said. “We need to talk.” He wondered why Jaskier went very still. “Yennefer has a horse for Ciri.”

“Reasonable, her legs are slight. She couldn’t walk or ride with you the whole time. She is small but not that small.” Jaskier looked up at him. “But you are not saying what you want to talk about.”

“That,” Geralt said. “Two horses, and there are three of us.” Geralt shook his head. “Why have we never bought you a horse. You are rich why have you not bought a horse?”

“They hate me,” Jaskier said. “I mean they really hate me. Especially since I started traveling with you. Tried to buy one, well I’ve tried to buy a dozen. Every respectable breeder wouldn’t sell when the horses ran away or tried to kick me in the head. Bought one once from a man desperate for money. Tied the horse carefully, but it was gone in the morning. Chewed right through the lead.” Jaskier just shrugged. “Think it is tied to whatever makes me not age. No crow’s feet, but no horse either. A trade off I can live with. And you tend to amble, and honestly all the walking does wonders for my thighs. I’m fine.”

“Roach likes you.”

“Yes, well whatever you did to me, I would point out, you’ve done to Roach. Unless you’ve managed to find multiple horses who look exactly the same, with the same attitude and have named them all Roach.”

“Oh,” Geralt blinked. “How long do horses live for?”

“25 or so years,” Jaskier said. “And they age over that time.”

Geralt looked to the barn. Thought of Roach. “Hmm.”

“It’s a puzzle,” Jaskier said, and he clearly didn’t care. “And that, is a picture.” He tilted his head and Geralt turned.

Ciri was walking next to Yennefer, in trousers and a shirt. All black, making her eyes and hair stand out even more. Geralt couldn’t help but noticed her clothes were almost a copy of his. It was adorable. And she had the bag he made her strapped across her chest, and a cloak over top it all. They stopped and Yennefer fussed at the cloak a bit and hugged Ciri, who clung just a bit.

“We should ready her horse, give them a moment,” Geralt said. 

“Good lord, Yennefer actually is showing more emotion than desire and rage,” Jaskier was shocked.

“She feels a lot,” Geralt replied. “I wish you would be nicer to her.”

“Eh, we’re fine. We like bickering.”

“Why?” Geralt frowned at him.

“Because I’m the only person who actually talks to her like that, and she appreciates that. And honestly if I can hold my own against her vitriol, no critic or heckler in a tavern will ever bother me.”

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could come up with for that. “You are fearless.”

Jaskier smiled. “No, I just know there is much more to fear in this world than her. Or you. I’ll go see about Ciri’s bags while you ready the horses.” He went back to the keep to gather any last bags, and Geralt went to the stable. He brought out both horses and moved them near the road. Yennefer kissed Ciri’s head and nudged her. Geralt watched Ciri wipe away a tear and firm her jaw at the same time.

“I’m ready,” she said on a very shaky breath, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and angled up her head. “I’m ready,” she repeated. Geralt held out his hands in a cup and gave her a boost onto the horse. “What about Jaskier?” she asked looking around. “He should have a horse.”

“I’m fine, I like walking, and in a pinch I can ride with one of you,” Jaskier told her and settled her bags on her horse. The horse tried to kick him. “Or I can ride Roach.”

Geralt snorted a bit. He nodded to Yennefer who went inside. He knew she wouldn’t watch them leave. He nudged Roach and they set out. They started of quiet, until they heard the first sniffle from Ciri. Geralt wondered if they should stop, if he should say something, but Jaskier gave a small shake of his head and started singing a jaunty tune. He gave a deadly glare and Geralt knew better than to groan at the singing. Eventually a few songs in, Ciri started to sing along. Geralt thought her voice sweet, but he could tell it was a bit thin and occasionally out of key. He had once seen Jaskier try to gut a man who didn’t harmonize correctly and he had been a renowned singer.

“Wonderful,” Jaskier praised Ciri.

“I always wanted to sing, but Grandmother said it was a foolish pass time.”

“I think with practice, you’ll make the birds want to sing along,” Jaskier said. “Do you know The Wild Rose?”

“I do!” Ciri said. 

“Good, sing with me. Lord knows Geralt won’t. Do you want to know an incredible secret, one you cannot tell anyone, especially Geralt?”

“I can hear you,” Geralt said.

“Oh yes,” Ciri beamed. “Is it a secret about him?”

“Of course, the best sort of secret. But again, you cannot tell him that I told you this.”

“You have my most solemn vow,” Ciri said. “On my future throne, I will never tell Geralt what you tell me.”

“I can hear you!” Geralt stormed, mostly for show. He made sure not to smile at the giggle that Ciri gave. He made an extra grumbly noise, just for the game of it all.

“Once, just once mind you, and after a great deal of very good ale, smiled. Actually smiled and hummed along the chorus of The Wild Rose.” Jaskier nodded seriously. “He’d deny it, to be sure, but I swear on my honour as a bard, it happened. I passed out cold hearing that dreadful atonal humming, but I did hear it.”

“What honour?” Geralt asked, and was barely heard over Ciri’s dramatic gasp.

“He did?”

“He did, it is his favourite song. I know this because he never throws a single thing at my head, or insults my singing when I sing that one. Should we make him happy and sing it now?”

“We should,” Ciri said and grinned at Geralt. “Geralt would you like us to sing you The Wild Rose?”

“I would enjoy nothing more than that from you Ciri,” Geralt answered.

“And what about me?” Jaskier batted his lashes at Geralt.

“You are pie,” he said, knowing Jaskier would understand.

Jaskier flipped him off and then started strumming. It was a jaunty happy song, and he certainly did not hum along, but he did almost smile at the way that Ciri sang. Joy, pure joy. She had been sad and Jaskier fixed that. Geralt would have gotten it all wrong.

Fuck, what if Jaskier left? It sounded like he intended to travel with them all spring and summer, but what if a woman caught his eye, or there was a bard competition? Many things had pulled the man away before, it was inevitable it would happen again. Maybe he could pay Jaskier to stay. He dismissed that thought immediately, because Jaskier was rich, and Geralt had maybe 10 silvers floating in the bottom of one of his bags. Shit.

They made camp at an abandoned farm, and Geralt was a bit relieved that their first night would ease her into the camping experience. She had done it on the run but it was a bit different when it was necessity and when it was choice. Yennefer had sent them along pasties and the chimney was clear enough he lit a fire. There was a bed in the room but they all saw it sort of shift and wiggle.

Ciri giggled. “50 silver for you to climb onto that Jaskier and lay down.”

Jaskier stood and went over. He lay down on the mattress. “Cozy,” he choked out and something under him squealed and he rolled off. “Now I have to burn these clothes that cost a lot more than 50 silver.”

“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. 

“Because it is a fun game. In fact, Geralt I will pay you 30 silvers to go touch that dead spider in the corner.” Geralt glared at him. “Ciri, he is scared of dead bugs.”

“What?”

“Not liking them is not the same as scared,” Geralt muttered. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes and went and touched the dead spider. It was large and he managed to not shudder in distaste. “Ciri, 1 Ducat to smell Jaskier’s feet.”

“Oh that is just cruel,” Jaskier said to him. But Ciri scooted over and Geralt couldn’t hold back the bellow of laughter that poured out of his throat at the face she made. Jaskier’s feet always smelled dreadful in the evening after a long walk. God, what did it say about him that he barely noticed the stench anymore.

“Fine,” Ciri said, “500 silver to whomever can belch louder than this!” 

Both Geralt and Jaskier were clearly stunned by the noise that came from her. “I’m…impressed?” Jaskier asked. “I think I am impressed? But I feel like I shouldn’t be?”

Geralt could only nod. But he gave it a go, though it nowhere near matched her.

“Not even trying,” Jaskier said. “But 200 Ducats to either of you if…” He was clearly trying to think of something utterly insane. “No,” Jaskier began to laugh. “200 Ducats to you, Geralt if you can sincerely compliment my singing, without making a single grumpy face twitch.”

“But you sing so beautifully,” Ciri said in surprise. “He even said you were as incredible as pie!”

Jaskier snorted and raised a brow at Geralt. “Well?”

Oh god, decades of teasing Jaskier had rendered him unable to be sincere about the man’s singing. “It is…” He had to be able to say something nice. “You sound better than wolves mating in heat.”

“Geralt!” Ciri reached over and hit him. “Jaskier sounds like an angel.”

“Actually I’m almost ready to give him money, that was the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

“Fine,” Geralt countered. “1,000 Ducats if you can tell a story of one of my encounters without a single embellishment. Just facts only.” Geralt crossed his arms and almost smiled. 

“I hate you,” Jaskier hissed. “One time, Geralt of Rivia was called to slay a Striga. There was a man driven mad by false love, and a beautiful sorceress who held the light true and goddammit,” Jaskier groaned.

Ciri was watching them. “I know, 5,000 Ducats to whomever of you can do this.” And it seemed she bent her arm inside out, the elbow going completely the wrong way.

“Arg!” Jaskier shouted and scooted back.

Geralt flinched and grunted. “We broke you already!”

“Ha! I broke the elbow when I was 6, falling from a tree. It just does that now.” She bent it again just to gross them out.

Geralt had thought the first night together would not quite play out like this, but it was brilliant. 

When she stepped out to take care of business, it was all he could do not to follow her to keep her safe.

“Let her piss alone, Geralt,” Jaskier said firmly. “You’ll hear any danger.”

“Tonight was good.”

“Yes it was,” Jaskier agreed. “Why I do believe the most dour man in the whole world, actually had a great deal of fun.”

“Stay,” Geralt said.

“Where was I going?” Jaskier looked around the cabin that only had half a roof. “I mean I was going to sleep over there? But I can stay closer.”

“Sometimes I woke up and you were gone, off to a different village, in a different bed. She’d be devastated if you left.”

“She would?” Jaskier shrugged. “I had no plans to leave, Geralt.”

“Promise me?”

“We don’t make promises to each other,” Jaskier said. “Always been a particular thing. Wanderers and all that. The road calls, blah blah blah.”

“Promise me, you’ll stay with us until Kaer Morhen. Don’t leave me.”

“I promise. I am here, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded. Ciri returned and he smiled at her. He helped her set up her pallet, explaining a good distance from the fire, and he could tell she was worn from the travel but would deny it. He glanced at Jaskier who was laying on his own pallet, pulled from that magic bag of his. Jaskier began to hum softly, singing just a little. Old songs, comforting songs. Geralt watched Ciri fall asleep. “I promise to show you incredible things, and to always keep you safe.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet, will you also show me pretty things? I do love pretty things,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt threw a pebble at Jaskier. “Sing to her some more,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I like when you sing to her.”

“Careful, that was awfully close to suggesting you like my singing.”

Geralt didn’t say anything to that, just watched Jaskier sing to a sleeping Ciri, until he fell asleep mid song. Geralt listened to Jaskier snore and smiled as Ciri somehow started to snore with him. He closed his eyes and slid into a meditative state. He knew he wouldn’t probably sleep for a while, wanting to keep his family safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Geralt couldn’t die. He slammed down another potion and shouted back at the alghoul. The small ghouls had been easy enough to dispatch, but the alghoul had been feasting long enough to be fairly strong. He wasn’t bit this time, thank fuck for that, but the bastard had dug a nail in hard into a gap in his shoulder plate, and on his fucking main arm at that. He looked around the cave and thought, even as he blocked blows. He remembered Jaskier once saying, “well if all else fails, I suppose you could play dead and when they try to eat you, stab them in the face.” Fucking hell, that seemed like the best option. Though he wouldn’t play dead, an alghoul would want to eat him alive. 

Geralt stumbled, dropped his sword. He fell to the ground and scuttled back as the alghoul approached. He cursed it out the whole time, shouting, screaming. He had heard enough people scream when faced with horrors, that he thought he was copying it fairly well. Plus the yelling distracted the monster from what his not numb arm was doing. He tried to think of how Jaskier acted when faced with a monster, and he realized that Jaskier never panicked. He almost forgot his own imminent death in that puzzle. Never once had Jaskier cried, shit himself, panicked when he got stuck in fight. Fuck, once he kept trying to take notes while the creature had him by the throat and was strangling him. Even the first, the very first, he had been well Jaskier to their kidnappers. He felt breath against his face, and the alghoul licked him. The smell was more foul than Jaskier’s feet. He really had to stop thinking of Jaskier and focus. 

“Oh no, you got me,” Geralt said and rammed the dagger up through the creatures chin and up into his brain. He kicked it in the stomach and it stumbled back. The dagger was distracting it and he picked up his fallen sword and beheaded the creature. He pulled the dagger out of the severed head and smiled faintly. He picked up the head for proof of the job and left the cave. He had enough potion in him, that his eyes stayed black as he entered town. He brought the head to the person who hired him, and took the money. The pain was starting to make itself known, and he asked after a witch or an apothecary but there were none.

Fuck. 

Jaskier would be able to take care of him, but Ciri was in the room too, and she didn’t need to see this. But his mind had thought of Jaskier, and it was all he could focus on. Because Jaskier knew how to patch him up. He had done it many times, with steady hands and little revulsion for the blood and ichor. He took Roach to the stable she was staying in, but taking care of her seemed like a lot of work, and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy. That was annoying. He got the saddle off her, and grabbed the most important things. Luckily the stable was next to the inn. He stumbled inside and a woman screamed. “Shut up,” he said. He didn’t have energy to appear nonthreatening, and to be fair right now, he wasn’t much of a threat anyways. “Jaskier. Need, Jaskier,” he said. The stairs seemed taller than they had when they took the room. He sat at bar. “A drink?” he asked. He couldn’t quite lift his main arm. He tried and it just didn’t move. “Huh,” he said. “Good think I wank with my off hand isn’t it?”

“Geralt, your daughter is right there,” Jaskier snapped from next to him.

“I know what wanking is. Saw a stable boy once -”

“No you haven’t,” Jaskier said. “You’ve never seen or heard or learned anything about that, because you are a child.”

“Grandmother told me everything long ago. Control the cock, control the mind.”

Jaskier closed his eyes. “I have many many thoughts about that, but we are dealing with your idiot father currently bleeding out on the lovely inn floor. We need to get him up to the room. And good man,” Geralt watched Jaskier turn on the charm, that tended to get them hot water. “A great deal of extra money for a bath and hot water brought to our room, and the worst rotgut you have, that you give the town drunkard to make him pass out when everyone is tired of him.”

Geralt stood. He nodded to Ciri. “I’m fine. Got paid. I can buy you a pretty thing.” That was what he should do right? It was nice when Jaskier bought him pretty things, like the daggers that saved his life, so buying her pretty things would be good too. “Little knives you can hide in your hair.”

“Not now,” Jaskier said and pushed him to go up the stairs. “Ciri, carry that bag, and careful, it is fragile.”

Ciri picked up that bag and Jaskier took the weapons. It took a moment to focus but Geralt, hands braced on the walls made it upstairs. The wound was starting to hurt a lot. “Not bit,” he promised them. “Not again. Claws.”

“Oh yes, wonderful. Because ghouls are known for how tidy they keep their nails,” Jaskier replied. “Well, Ciri, ready for your first medical lesson?”

“Yennefer showed me how to brew -”

“No, my dear, far more practical.” Jaskier opened the door and Geralt saw the bed and aimed for it. He growled when Jaskier stopped him. “Do you want to get blood and whatever that goo is on Ciri’s bed?” Geralt immediately stopped, and when Jaskier pulled out a chair, he sort of collapsed in it. He was so tired. Perhaps going on a hunt when he had only been meditating and not properly sleeping was a bad idea. “Now step one, no undressing him until the bath, water, and rotgut have been brought. He doesn’t like to be vulnerable in front of strangers.”

“Not vulnerable,” Geralt managed to say. He tried to swat Jaskier away with the good arm. 

“Wait until everyone is gone,” Ciri said.

“Now, most people you’d want to be soothing, confident, comforting. Everything will be fine, I’ll take care of you, run a hand over their hair, hold their hand. With a Witcher, an alternate approach is better.”

“What alternate?” Geralt asked, because right now he wouldn’t mind some of that, it didn’t sound half bad. 

“If you die, I will tell everyone that your last wish was that someone sing Toss A Coin to your grave every single day, until the song slides from memory. And I will make sure they build a statue of me on your grave, because you wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by me through all eternity.” Jaskier turned to Ciri, “See for him it is less comfort, more threat that keeps him focused and awake. We need him to stay awake until he is clean and injuries assessed. Because he is a damn mountain and hard to move when passed out.”

“Not that bad,” Geralt said.

Jaskier just snorted and let the people in when there was a knock. The water was steaming in the buckets. The tub was small but better than some places. Jaskier tipped heavily and then when they were gone barred the door. Geralt grunted his approval. He reached down to get his boots off and cursed in several languages as the pain flared in the one arm.

“Second lesson, how to undress a Witcher, because there are a million things hidden in their armor. Which we are replacing in the next decent town,” Jaskier said.

“Leave it,” Geralt warned. Witcher armor was built to such specifics, and only made by people in Kaer Morhen. The patching that Jaskier had done when they first reunited was the most that he would allow. 

“You need new armor! This set is doing fuck all, look at this pauldron,” Jaskier said. “We are replacing it.”

“We are doing fuck all,” Geralt glared. “You are being a pain in my ass, and I am bleeding.”

“It really seems more like oozing at this point,” Ciri offered.

“I’m sorry,” he looked at her, and was relieved she didn’t look too panicked. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” Jaskier said and Geralt seemed to just blink and Jaskier had him down to just his trousers. “Now, you said Yennefer taught you potions. Do you know what we do next?”

“Wash all the gross off, to figure out what is the main concern?”

“Good girl,” Jaskier praised. “He doesn’t get in the bath yet, because that will just make the water gross.”

Geralt growled a bit, he wanted in that bath. Jaskier just ignored him though and soaked a cloth in the hot water.

“Firm enough to get all the grime off, but not so firm to hurt.”

“It takes more than you to hurt me.” Geralt kicked out a bit and Jaskier easily dodged it. Geralt might be worse off than he realized. The cloth felt good though as it wiped away the sweat and other things. He kissed Ciri’s head when she used her cloth to clean his hands.

Jaskier was assessing. “Nails in the shoulder the worst?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. He could feel where there would be some bruises and aches, but nothing felt broken. He roared when the rotgut was poured on the wound. “You are supposed to warn me when you do that!”

“When have I ever warned you?” Jaskier was unsympathetic. “Depending on Geralt’s potion supply, he might not have any healing elixirs, or the right ones for this sort of injury, so the most potent alcohol you can find will clean a wound well. You do the first pour then clean the wound, then a second pour.” Jaskier cleaned the wound, and then poured more on. “You’ll scar.”

“What are a few more?” Geralt said. He felt around the wound. “Doesn’t need to be sealed.” They were deep, but surprisingly tidy. “Just wrapped after the bath.”

“I agree,” Jaskier said as he poked at the holes.

“Because you bard training included healing.”

“No, taking care of you for a few decades has done that.” Geralt watched Jaskier smile at Ciri. “My dear, I am pretty sure you don’t want to see Geralt’s cock, so this next part how about you go read by the candle?”

“Yes,” she swiftly agreed. Geralt saw the concern on her face. “Is it really not that serious a wound?”

“It is serious, but more because I am not rested enough,” he said.

“You’ve been sleeping though.”

“Yes, you’ve been sleeping right?” Jaskier poked at the wound that was almost done bleeding.

“Near enough, it was fine.” Another poke, and he seriously considered flinging Jaskier across the room. “I had to keep you safe.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Ciri said and he groaned when her hug pressed on what would be nasty bruises the next day. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. He nudged her and she went and sat on the other side of the bed, eyes on the book that she had brought with her. “I can take my trousers off myself,” he hissed to Jaskier.

“Okay,” Jaskier said and went to his bag, to pull out the herbs that would soothe in the bath. Geralt nodded, and pulled at the strings of his trousers. He was able to do that, but when he moved to push them down, the hurt arm started to bleed more again at the movement, and he grunted. “Fuck, that bad?” Jaskier asked. He knelt and Geralt looked down at him. This had happened before, a bad hit to his thigh once, but it felt weird now.

Jaskier was different than before.

Or he was seeing him different. He couldn’t say.

Plus his daughter was in the room, and Jaskier was getting him naked. 

Fuck this was awkward and he was tired and hurting. He stepped out of the trousers and reluctantly let Jaskier steady him as he stepped into the tub. Fuck the water felt good. He let his mind drift, away from the fight, from the pain. He slid into a quasi meditative state, knowing that he had to sleep tonight, to fight any infection that might try to linger. Not that it would after that fire Jaskier had poured on the wound. 

“Going to check it,” Jaskier warned and Geralt just nodded. He was aware that it hurt but was in his meditation deep enough that it felt remote, the poking at the wounds. “It will heal ugly, and we have to be careful, keep your arm moving, so the muscles won’t get too tight as it heals.” Geralt nodded. “Now are you going to be stubborn, or can I?” Geralt rolled his eyes and huffed, but Jaskier flicked his ear and he shrugged. Which was a bad idea because it hurt.

Instead of a full bucket, water was slowly poured over his hair and Jaskier was cleaning it, massaging his head. It felt good and sank him into an even deeper meditative state.

“Can I look now?”

“The shadows hide everything,” he could hear Jaskier say. “He’s basically asleep, you won’t bother him.”

That was a lie, but he didn’t want Jaskier to stop touching his hair, so he didn’t respond.

“Witchers aren’t supposed to get hurt,” she said. “In the stories, they are as strong as the monsters they fight. They win, with nary an injury. That’s what you sing.”

“You are such a mix of old and young, dear girl,” Jaskier said.

“I’m old enough.”

“I know,” Jaskier replied and Geralt tipped his head foreword as the massage went to his neck. “He is strong, and takes potions to make him stronger. One day you see him when he is…different.”

“Is he scary?”

“To others, but never to us, to the ones who -” Jaskier cleared his throat, and Geralt wondered what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be. Jaskier stood and Geralt let out a noise of protest. “Just getting an oil, you’ll like it baby.”

Ciri giggled and Geralt almost did too. “Did you just call him baby? Geralt?”

“So what if I did, he never remembers, and it is funny isn’t it?” 

Wait, Jaskier had done it before? Something tickled at his memory but it was all so vague. Hands were back on him a bit slicker and smelling good. “He has a sensitive nose, so light scents only. Nothing too rich.” 

“You take good care of him.”

“Someone has to,” Jaskier replied. “He thinks he is fine alone, they were taught that. Horse shit, and believe me I yelled at them a good bit for doing that. Because he needs someone desperately.”

“Yennefer said his heart is cold, that they burned it out of them.”

“They mute it, but some? Like him? Can only bank those fires so long.” Jaskier’s hands left him. “He loves Yennefer, and he loves you. Even if he is rubbish with remembering to say it.”

“And you, his beloved companion,” Ciri said. “He loves you most of all.”

Geralt blinked at that. Good lord, Ciri had really bought Yennefer’s joke about that. He needed to correct her. They weren’t beloveds; Jaskier was the fish smell that never let your bag and you just got used to. And missed when it went away. Felt lonely and empty when it went away.

He might also be feeling empty because he hadn’t eaten today.

“Sure he does,” Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the sarcasm in his voice but Ciri could not.

“Are you bonded, will you say vows, can we have a party?” Ciri asked in quick succession.

“We’ll save that talk for another time,” Jaskier said. “I need to get him to focus so we can get him out of the tub.”

“I’ll go back to reading my book.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s fingers in his hair again, and a towel drying it off. He could feel Jaskier braiding it and talking to him, asking him to focus, to come back up. It would take a bit to fully focus, but less than Jaskier thought, and he wasn’t going to let him know that. He took the extra time and then turned his head to Jaskier. “I can’t sleep, I need to keep her safe.”

“If you don’t sleep, when we hit the road, you will pass out and fall off of Roach and crack your head open on a rock. The stupidest possible death ever for a Witcher.”

“One got fucked by centaur to death.”

“Second stupidest death,” Jaskier amended. “Do you want to be the second stupidest death, the one everyone will remember because I immortalize it in song?”

“She has to be kept safe.”

“I will keep her safe,” Jaskier promised, and it was the most serious that Geralt had ever seen him. “I swear it as your best friend, on my honour as your bard.”

Geralt nodded and stood up. He stepped out of the tub and Jaskier dried him off with the drying sheet. He stood there, not particularly caring about his nudity, he and Jaskier had seen each other a million times. Jaskier wrapped the wound carefully and reached into the bag, and pulled out a pair of those absurd sleeping trousers that he liked to wear these days. Only they looked far too big for Jaskier. “No,” Geralt said staring at them.

“God forbid you be comfortable when you are about to pass out? Put them on.”

“I can’t,” Geralt snapped.

“Because they aren’t all black?” Jaskier countered. “I dared have them made with a bit of smoke grey - the horror.”

“I can’t pull them up with this arm,” Geralt said.

“Oh, right.” Jaskier knelt and when Geralt stepped in, he pulled them up and tied the string at the waist. “There.”

Fuck, they felt good against his skin. He sort of grunted. Geralt let Jaskier nudge him to the bed and Geralt softened when Ciri tucked him in and kissed the cloth wrapping his shoulder. “Triss taught me that kisses help things heal quicker.”

“She would know,” Geralt agreed. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.” He would. The wound would be mostly healed and he would be rested. He knew the routine. 

“Sleep well,” Ciri said and she sang him The Wild Rose. Geralt watched Jaskier move the chair to the door and sit in it, adding to the wood barring the door from opening, one of Geralt’s daggers in his lap. Fuck, Jaskier would fall asleep and stab himself with it, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Sleep pulled him down, away. 

He woke at dawn, Ciri’s snores in the bed next to him. He felt a lot better, and the shoulder was well scabbed over, the skin pulling closed. He looked over and blinked.

Jaskier smiled at him.

He had stayed awake the whole night. Geralt stood, rotated the shoulder a bit, so the skin wouldn’t feel too tight. He gently took the dagger out of Jaskier’s hand, and picked the man up. He put him in the bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin. Ciri rolled over and Jaskier automatically pulled her into a protective hug. “Kept your daughter safe,” Jaskier said, already almost asleep. “Wouldn’t let a thing happen to our girl.”

He was snoring a moment later.

Geralt picked up the hand that fell off the bed, to put back under the covers. He stopped and kissed the callused fingers. “My thanks,” he said softly, and tucked the hand back in. He sat on the ground and cleaned his weapons, and watched them sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right i had plans for this chapter but it was growing so huge i've had to cut it in two. so please enjoy part one of our little feral family enjoying a festival

Geralt looked down at the coastal village from the hill they were on. It was small, still in the distance, but he could see flowers everywhere, banners flapping in the wind. He looked at Jaskier who was very carefully not returning his look. “Jaskier?”

“Yes, beautiful day isn’t it?” Jaskier whistled idly. “Well still an hour or so walk, shall we?” He stepped forward, and Geralt dismounted from Roach and moved in front of him. “Oh, letting me ride, thank you!”

“You nudged and we arrived here 10 days later than the original plan.” Jaskier had been delaying them, slowing them a couple times, and Geralt didn’t think much of it, assumed that it was to make the traveling easier for Ciri. It had been almost two months and she had adapted well, but needed more breaks than they did. So he hadn’t thought of it, because also Jaskier wasn’t sneaky.

He really had to remember that the bastard was sneaky all the damn time. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“We deserve some fun! Ciri killed a vampire and deserves a good girl reward.”

“I’m making her a thing.”

“You are?” Ciri was on her horse. “I love when you make me things.”

Geralt smiled at her pleased. On a kill he had pulled bone from a kikimore, and been carving them into hair pins that were lethally sharp. He knew she’d love them. Jaskier kept muttering about monster bones not being a good gift for her, but he certainly hadn’t objected when Geralt handed him a couple pieces he had carved into picks. He looked down at the village. “We might not even get rooms.” He hoped they couldn’t get rooms.

“I actually own rooms in that village, they are expecting us. Bath, soft bed, delicious food.”

“A real bed?”

“Feathers, no bugs,” Jaskier told Ciri. “It is their founding festival. Days of music, and food, people selling their best wares, and I am going to win the local bard contest and shower the two of you in gifts.”

“Too many people,” Geralt grunted. He frowned though when Ciri’s face fell. He wanted to make her happy, but that couldn’t be safe for her.

“Geralt, a moment if you please,” Jaskier said and grabbed the front of his leathers and was trying to drag him away from Ciri. Geralt didn’t move for a moment, but a glare from Jaskier and he let the man pull him away. He blinked when Jaskier smacked the chest plate. “You idiot.”

“I just want her safe,” Geralt protested.

“Geralt, I know, but this village is about as far as you can get from Cintra. No one down there is going to know who she is. They wouldn’t care if they did. It’s the edge of the world, Geralt. It cares about not much outside the sea. And she isn’t you, she needs people, some time playing. I know she has to learn so much, and has to be careful, but she spent months with Yennefer, and you know Yennefer is only slightly better around people than you. We’ve been on the road a couple months, and she’s had us. And I am an amazing companion, but I’m not another thirteen year old. She needs some fun, Geralt.”

“Killing werewolves is fun,” Geralt protested. She had actually got one with her crossbow, and he had been so proud. Jaskier hit him again, and held a finger in Geralt’s face. “I’ll bite it off if you don’t stop waving it in front of me.”

“No you won’t,” Jaskier wagged the finger again. “We are all preparing her to one day maybe be a queen, and she has been in the shit, and she deserves some goddamn fun and to be a child.” 

Geralt looked at her on her horse as she stared down at the village. He slumped a little. “We should have put her in school, or found her -”

“For fuck’s sake, being a father has made you more dramatic than me.”

“That was uncalled for.” Geralt crossed his arms and glared. “An entire theatre troupe is less dramatic than you.”

“She belongs with you, she is loving her current life. But that doesn’t mean you can’t provide a bit of balance. Fun, Geralt, you must have had some fun in your life outside killing things and a whore’s bed.”

“I want rules in place.”

“Of course,” Jaskier agreed.

“One of us keeps her at least in eye sight at all times.”

“Indeed.”

“Fine,” Geralt sighed. “Are you done yelling at me?”

“Yes.” Jaskier smiled. “This will be a nice break for the family! Wait until you see the rooms I have here, you’ll be impressed.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. He doubted it, rooms were rooms. He strode over to Ciri. “When we get there, you will stay in the rooms with Jaskier while I get the lay of the land. You will go by the name…” Great now they had to come up with a fake name he’d actually remember. He was always rubbish with those. “Eh, fuck it, Ciri isn’t an uncommon name. You will obey every rule I lay down. Or we leave. Is that understood?”

“It is!” Ciri said swiftly. “We can go to the festival?”

Geralt nodded and had to spend the rest of the journey down to the village listening to the two of them squealing over everything they would do and see. And maybe there was a decent whorehouse he could go to. Traveling with an extra person had made disappearing into the woods and wanking more difficult, and he never trusted the towns they had stopped in. He was feeling pent up. The small town was nice. A lot nicer than they had been in recently. Houses were clean, and there were just flowers everywhere. The smell was a bit overwhelming and he hoped he would adjust. Jaskier was guiding them down some streets that were not rich, more a merchants row, until they stopped in front of a shop. “Ta Da!”

“It’s a bakery,” Geralt said.

“It smells amazing,” Ciri looked in the window. “Biscuits!”

“Best in the whole town,” Jaskier said.

“I thought you were taking us to our rooms.” Geralt looked around the street. It was two back from the main road, on a corner that actually had a good vantage point. If they were up higher, he wouldn’t hate this place.

“I am.” Jaskier took them around the back. There was a two stall lean to at the back. “For their deliveries, and I had them add a second stall for Roach.”

Geralt looked at him. “Huh?”

“The rooms are above the bakery, so I paid to make sure Roach could be near. Didn’t think about Ciri having a horse though. Hmmm.”

Geralt looked at the stall. It was a decent size. “Ciri’s horse can have it, Roach outside. If it rains they’ll fit together.” Ciri and Geralt took care of the horses while Jaskier waiting impatiently. They took the bags and climbed the stairs outside the building to a door. Jaskier unlocked the door. “And here we are,” he said. “Five days of rest, relaxation, and fun.”

“The rooms are so pretty!” Ciri exclaimed.

Geralt looked about. Three rooms in total, a big main room, and two doors that he figured were to bedroom and bathing chamber. There were actually paintings on the walls, rugs on the floor. Nice furniture. It all looked fine. He gave Jaskier a dead stare. “I thought I was going to be impressed.”

Jaskier made a face at him. “Go look at the shutters on the windows.”

Geralt went over and opened them. “Fuck, I can see a lot.”

Jaskier opened another window. “We can see people coming from either major direction. The shutters had a mid slat that can be removed to be peep holes. They are reinforced with metal around the edges. The door has triple the usual bolts, double bars. There is a secret drop there into the shop below,” Jaskier explained as he lifted a rug. He opened a wardrobe, “Weapons cabinet for you. Hidden weapons there, there, and there.” Jaskier pointed.

Geralt smiled slowly. “Damn.”

“Ha! I did impress you,” Jaskier grinned. “Did learn a few things over the years.”

“Why?” Geralt asked. 

“Because if you ever actually took a break, I wanted you to be comfortable.” Jaskier turned to Ciri. “I think you’ll sleep comfortably on that chaise, my dear. Geralt the bed is large enough, even for your legs. The big problem is we have to boil water ourselves for the bath but we’ve endured worse.”

“It’s wonderful,” Ciri said, “I swear it is almost like you meant it for Geralt all along, not for you.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier replied. It was a fair approximation of Geralt’s usual noise. “Now Geralt, I believe you wanted to get the lay of the land?”

Geralt nodded and headed out. He waited on the steps. “Bar the door,” he shouted. He waited until he heard the distinct thunk. He walked first around the block their house was on, and kept widening in circles, memorizing the streets, half a dozen ways to move about the town, until he was satisfied that even blinded he could get his family out. He found himself in the town square where celebrating already seemed to be going, the open market bright and happy, music playing. He should get them. He hated that Jaskier was right, but Ciri deserved some fun, when he saw some girls together at a stall looking at ribbons and flower crowns. Geralt saw some blue flowers and headed over. The girls all froze and took a few steps away. He picked up the blue crown. It would look good on Ciri. There was also a dark red one. He picked it up as well. “How much for both?”

“2 silvers,” the seller said, and Geralt was relieved, he had that much at least. He handed over the money and tried to smile at the girls, to look harmless. One squeaked and they all hurried away. Fuck, so much for making friends for Ciri to play with. Jaskier should be in charge of that. He went home and knocked on the door. “It is me.”

“How do we know that?” Jaskier shouted.

If Geralt wasn’t standing there, bloody flower crowns balanced carefully so as not to squish them he would appreciate Jaskier being careful. “Who else sounds like me?”

“Prove it.”

“How? If I was a doppler, I’d have all Geralt’s memories.”

“But not the heart of who Geralt is. What is a thing that makes Geralt happy.”

“Ciri,” Geralt replied and kicked the door.

“Aww,” Ciri could be heard. “Let him in Jaskier. I want to go explore.”

“No, because guaranteed this is some stupid test, and I won’t fail it because then he’ll make us leave. Now that is obvious if you have his memories. Dig deeper.”

“We were camping, it was winter. You made friends with this fox.” Geralt replied slowly. “We were hit by a blizzard, and that creature actually lead us to a cave. I was happy then for your gift for befriend feral creatures.”

The door opened, and Jaskier smiled at him. “Well, feral creatures make the best friends, don’t they?”

Geralt nodded at him. “That is my experience. There aren’t any more feral than you.”

“Did you just call me your friend?” Jaskier blinked. “What the fuck, you never do that. Shit I just failed the test, you are going to kill us.”

Geralt slapped the red flower crown on Jaskier’s head. “I’m not that bad.” He stepped around the man and held out the blue one to Ciri. She smiled at him and he carefully placed it on her head, letting the yellow and pink ribbons frame her face. “Beautiful,” he said.

“Can we go explore?” she wasn’t bouncing, but it was close.

“Yes, we can, but hold on.” Geralt went into his pack. He slid a dagger into her boot, a potion that would create a cloud of noxious smoke onto her belt, and a silver chain around her wrist. “You stay where I can see or smell you, at all times.”

“That sounded creepy.”

“It did,” Jaskier agreed. He was adjusting his crown in the mirror. “But he is right, we want an eye on you. And here.” Jaskier reached into his bag, and pulled out some money. “Remember whatever you buy, you have to carry on the road. But a couple little trinkets, wouldn’t hurt. And there will be amazing food stalls.” 

Geralt couldn’t quite seen how much coin Jaskier gave her, but he was sure it was too much. “Jaskier.”

“She deserves spoiling,” Jaskier replied and flipped him off.

Geralt would have protested, but both of them looked so excited. “Fine. Let’s go.” He almost got trampled by a bard and a tiny girl as they ran out of the rooms. He followed them at a sedate pace, keeping an eye out. Thieves and pickpockets were always around at these sort of things. Sure enough, he glare sent two running from where they had started to approach Jaskier. When they reached the town square, Jaskier and Ciri were going nuts for all the wares. Ciri looked amazing the crown bringing out her eyes even more. And Jaskier somehow was pulling his off, which was weird, but he supposed if Jaskier could look good in those stupid bard clothes of his, then flowers on his head would work as well.

He paused as he realized that he had just thought Jaskier looked good. That was new. He blinked and for a moment couldn’t see Ciri. He growled a little and stepped forward, ready to hunt.

“She’s with that group, drawing flowers on the wall there,” Jaskier said and was holding up something. “Oh yes, this would look wonderful on you.”

Geralt looked down. “I have a cloak.”

“That has been stitched back together or patched how many times?”

“It is green.” A dark green, but still. Seemed a bit bright.

“Think how it will hide you in the woods in summer,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt just looked at him. “No, it won’t.”

“Fine, no it won’t, but it will look good on you, and actually keep you warm. Feel the fabric!” Geralt reached out to touch, because otherwise Jaskier would just bother him. And fuck it was soft. But sturdy. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt replied.

“I’m buying it for you,” Jaskier said and began to haggle with the stall keeper. Geralt kept an eye on Ciri, and she was looking so happy. She was laughing with the other young girls, and when a boy walked by they all started furiously whispering. Geralt wondered if he should kill the boy, the way he stumbled when Ciri smiled at him.

“No killing boys she practices flirting with,” Jaskier said.

“You weren’t even looking.”

“I can hear their giggles, and those are the laughs of a cute boy sighting. Let her be. And more, let that poor boy be.”

“He’s stopped and is talking to Ciri.” Geralt tried to make the lad’s head explode with his mind. 

“Here, what do you think of this clasp for your new cloak?”

“You are trying to distract me,” Geralt didn’t look at it, busy death glaring at the boy still talking to Ciri.

“Not at all, and you are right, this one doesn’t have enough gemstones in it. You need it shinier.”

Geralt tore his gaze away from trying immolate the boy and down to Jaskier’s hands. It was a simple bronze clasp with a leaf design. The metal work was delicate but sturdy. The sort of metalwork he knew cost a fortune. “That’s too expensive, they should have some wood or something.”

“What, Ciri is the only one who gets treats?” Jaskier snorted. He paid the woman working the booth. “Now, do you need anymore daggers?”

“No, I am fine. Why aren’t you buying yourself that…” Geralt looked around for something he thought that Jaskier would buy. “That belt there?” It was actually really quality leather work, the stitching bold red against the tan leather. It did look like something Jaskier would wear.

“Happy making the two of you happy. You deserve some spoiling.”

Geralt smiled. “She really does.” He looked over and the boy was still talking to her. “Right after I deal with him.”

“Geralt, if you don’t shut up, I will make it worse.”

Geralt glared at him. “She looks cold, I should go see if she needs anything.” Jaskier couldn't be mad, if he was just looking after Ciri's health. And if he stepped on the boy on his way over, it would likely only break a few toes.

“Right. Making it worse immediately.” Jaskier pushed everything he had bought at Geralt, and Geralt realized he hadn’t been paying enough attention.

“When did you buy all this?”

“Shut up, making it worse,” Jaskier said. He stepped away from Geralt. “Why is no one dancing on this beautiful day, in this perfect spot of heaven?” he shouted and people turned. “Allow me to help rectify that crime.” He started playing his lute which had been across his back and singing a jaunty jig. He moved about almost dancing as he played. Geralt’s eyes widened as Ciri grabbed the boy’s hand and started dancing with him, along with a couple dozen other people.

So that is what the bastard meant by making it worse.

Geralt was going to kill him. And based on the feral smile Jaskier gave him, he thought whatever was going to happen was worth it. He watched Ciri dance and his shoulders slumped. She was happy and this was a passing moment. It really wasn’t worth the mess to kill the boy. Geralt went to lean against a building. Geralt listened to Jaskier and kept an eye on both of them. He smiled faintly, well pleased watching them enjoy themselves. Jaskier played a few songs and everyone was merry. More musicians came out and Jaskier took a break, eyes flushed. 

“Now you may murder me,” Jaskier said coming up to him.

Geralt flicked his nose. “There, you are murdered.”

“Wait, are you in a good mood?”

“It has been known to happen,” Geralt replied. “Victory in battle, a hard fuck, watching her be content, the shadows in her eyes gone.”

“That is a good sight indeed,” Jaskier said. “Imagine if your mood stays good the whole time we are here! That will be a record for you.”

“Let me just enjoy the moment,” Geralt watched her start to dance with one of the girls. He actually knew this song and dance, remembered it from an event like this, he had stumbled upon long before he knew Jaskier. Before he had been the Butcher of Blaviken, when people didn’t fear him the extra from those stories. He remembered a pretty woman cajoling him to dance. He spent a couple days in her bed. Jaskier was still talking, teasing about Geralt’s good mood. Geralt took all the things that Jaskier had purchased to the merchant stall near them. “Watch these,” he said shortly and the man paled and nodded. Good enough. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and pulled him into the square.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaskier asked.

“Dancing with you,” Geralt replied. He figured the shock of it would get the man to shut up, and sure enough he was right. 

The sun was shining, the smell of all the flowers was giving him a headache, but Ciri was laughing and dancing, and Jaskier was struck silent. He spun and held out his hand and Jaskier took it. 

Happy Ciri, quiet Jaskier. Dancing was worth the humiliation of dancing in public.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DO ENJOY 5K OF A CERTAIN SOMEONE FINALLY CLUING INTO HIS FEELINGS

“Is tomorrow really our last day?” Geralt heard from the main room as he took a bath.

“It is,” Jaskier replied. “The big bard competition. I have a couple new songs ready to go. I’ve been listening the other bards who came. I’ll destroy them, faster than Geralt destroys vampires.”

Geralt smiled at Ciri’s giggle. He ducked under the water and scrubbed his own hair. He frowned, and wondered if he could call Jaskier in to do it, but he kept silent.

“I wish we could stay forever,” Ciri said and Geralt felt his heart crack. But Jaskier would fix it, remind her how good the road was, the adventures that lay ahead for their family.

“Me too, my dear, me too. But suppose we better figure out how to pack all the things you’ve bought.”

“You too.”

“Yes, but I have a magic bag and you’ll need to bribe me well to let you borrow some space.”

“I’ll say you are my favourite,” she suggested.

“Good enough.”

Geralt didn’t feel the water grow cold against his skin, his heart freezing over in a way it hadn’t felt in a long time. They were quiet after that and he was relieved, more would have hurt too much. They were happy here. They should be happy all the time, but he couldn’t stay, he had a duty to world, to humans, to keep them safe. But they could be happy. He could let them be happy.

Geralt knew only a few things for certain in this world. 

How to kill monsters.

How to clean weapons.

Some magic.

And all he wanted wasn’t for himself, he deserved no wants, earned no wants. But for them he wanted. All he wanted was for Ciri and Jaskier to be happy.

He nodded a bit, a decision made in his mind. It hurt, it hurt so fucking much, but it was the right decision.

“Have you drowned in there?” Jaskier shouted after he banged on the door. “Some of us have to get beautiful for tomorrow.”

“Ciri is already beautiful, and no magic in the land could make your face beautiful,” he shouted back automatically. He could actually hear Jaskier’s mouth opening and closing.

“You need a biscuit,” Jaskier said. 

Actually, that sounded good; the bakery below them was amazing. Geralt got out of the tub and pulled the cork in the bottom. It was sort of ingenious that it piped out and water the flowers along the side of the building. Made up for having to haul the water up from the well by the stable. He didn’t bother drying off, just opened the door and held out his hand. “Biscuit,” he said.

“Pants,” Jaskier replied. “Ciri, remember?”

“Ciri isn’t looking!” Ciri called back. “And honestly we all camp together, it’s just dicks, they aren’t a big deal.”

Geralt and Jaskier both looked down at Jaskier clothed, Geralt naked. “So many things I would say,” Jaskier said, “And all of them are too much for the lowest of pubs, let alone our girl.”

Geralt snorted, and put on those sleeping pants Jaskier had given him, they were really fucking comfortable. He settled into the main room, and Jaskier poured him a whisky, and gave him a biscuit. Geralt listened to Ciri talk about everything she had done that day, like Geralt hadn’t been watching her the whole time, and Jaskier went to the bathing chamber. “Water?” Geralt asked.

“Please! Don’t need a full bath tonight. But water would be good.”

There were three buckets already full and he moved them by the fire, one poured into the cauldron to get hot, the others warming by closeness. He went downstairs and filled the empty bucket. He knocked on the bathroom door, and Jaskier was stripped down to his pants. “Water,” Geralt said. 

“Thanks, realized I need to shave, and Ciri will want us out and about as soon as we wake up. Darker than I’d like though.” He had the window open, which was letting in the last of the evening light, and candles were lit. Geralt could see like it was noon on a perfect day. “Well, I’ll manage.”

“I can do it for you,” Geralt offered. “Light is fine for me.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier said. “I have to look my best tomorrow.”

“You’ve won competitions before.” Geralt brought in the other water and figured if he was that worried, Jaskier should have a bath. He poured the water in the tub, and it was about half full. He got more, heating some. It wouldn’t be the perfect bath, but the water wasn’t cold. “In,” he said. He had a thought. He went and grabbed the warming bricks that were kept on the fires edge, and put them in the water. That should help a bit. Jaskier stripped all the way down and got in the water.

Geralt realized that over the years he had patched Jaskier up many a time — many, many a time, but had never done this for him. That was wrong, considering how much Jaskier had taken care of him over the years. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“For what? I don’t need the water as hot as you, this is fine.”

“I should have taken better care of you,” Geralt replied. He went to the counter. “Which of these do you like?” There were so many little vials.

“I’m ageless because of you, and you’ve saved my life how many times? I think you take plenty good care of me. And the third one there.” 

Geralt nodded and poured a bit of the liquid into the bath. “Now, I dramatically throw something in as well.”

“I just do that to annoy you. I’m fine.”

“I should wash your hair.”

“Geralt…are you dying? Am I dying? What the fuck is this?”

“Shut up,” Geralt flushed just a bit. “Not that odd that I am taking care of you.”

“Little bit,” Jaskier said but then was quiet.

Geralt washed Jaskier’s hair and then oiled his cheeks and jaw. He carefully drew the razor along the skin. “I won’t cut you,” he promised when he felt the tension in Jaskier’s jaw.

“I know. Just really weird of you to take care of me, when I’m not bleeding or about to bleed because ‘trouble follows you so much that I wonder just how many curses have been laid upon your pathetic ass’.” Jaskier tilted his head back, and Geralt scraped the stubble off.

“I am unkind to you.”

“Your words are unkind, your actions often are very kind.”

Geralt finished the shave in silence and rubbed the cream into Jaskier’s face. “You should have left years ago. You deserve better than my friendship.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Geralt smiled a bit and left Jaskier in the bath. In the main room he saw Ciri coughing and eyes watering. “And did we learn our lesson about sneaking whisky?” Ciri quickly nodded. Geralt gave her a thump on the back. “You’ve had a good time here.” It was a statement, not a question because he knew the answer.

“I have, this might be the most fun I’ve ever had. Nothing better than Jaskier.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

“There was your ‘agree but don’t want to say so’ hmm,” Ciri smiled at him. “I’m starting to figure them out. Jaskier helped. Explained the differences.”

“My hmms all sound the same.”

“They don’t once you listen carefully. Tomorrow will you dance with me?”

“Of course, I would have any of the days with you,” Geralt said, surprised.

“You were busy being happy dancing with Jaskier, didn’t want to interrupt that since you are only willing to suffer through two dances.”

Geralt looked at her. “I am always yours.”

Ciri hugged him and rested against his chest. “Can you tell me a story?”

“That should be Jaskier.”

“He’ll tell a dramatic story of your heroics. I want a story about him. When you two first began to realize you were beloved companions.”

He really wished she would stop calling them that. They weren’t that. Geralt wrapped an arm around her. He couldn’t give her that sort of story, but he had a pretty funny memory and told her about a time back in their early days of traveling, and Jaskier learned that sometimes trees walked. He had no flare for storytelling but she laughed a few times, until she drifted off. He carried her to the chaise and covered her in a blanket. There was a kiss to her head and he went to the bedroom. Jaskier was there, humming and making notes. Geralt watched him, and his skin felt too tight, a restlessness. “Bar the door,” he told Jaskier. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Jaskier didn’t look up from his work. “I already paid the whorehouse two blocks east to give you whatever you want. Go have fun. Surprised you haven’t gone yet.”

“We were busy. Bar the door.” Geralt left and walked. He found himself in front of the whorehouse that Jaskier mentioned. He stopped for a moment, and then kept walking. He found himself on a pier. He stripped down and dove into the water. He swam out until the village looked small. The quiet felt good, and he floated. He tried to sort his thoughts, but they were such a muddle. “Fuck,” he groaned when hands pulled his under. He punched the mermaid and struck back for the pier. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but when he was pulled under again, he figured maybe he was in the mood. It was a bit more difficult that usual, because he had no weapons but eventually he knocked the creature cold. He pushed himself up onto the pier and gathered his clothes. Geralt ignored the looks as he walked back home, clothes vaguely held in front of his cock.

He knocked on the door and Jaskier opened it after confirming it was Geralt. “What the fuck kinky stuff did you get up to?”

“Went for a swim,” Geralt coughed up some sea water. “Mermaid.” He held up a bare hand. “Necklace. For Ciri.”

“You dove into the water to get into a brawl with a mermaid to get its necklace for Ciri, when there is a whole festival of jewelry and whatnots out there.”

“Swim, the fight was incidental.”

“You smell like fish.”

“You sing like one.”

“Not tonight,” Jaskier snapped. “I want to win tomorrow to impress Ciri.”

They went into the bedroom. “You already impress Ciri,” Geralt frowned. “She adores you.”

“Let’s look at who she has spent her life around. Calanthe, the bitchiest bitchy ruthless cunt who ever sat and held a throne. Yennefer, who is what the strongest sorceress in 200 years, and you the most fucking mythic Witcher of all time. I want to win so she thinks I am important.”

Geralt was still dripping a bit, naked, and smelled like sea water. He sat on the bed next to Jaskier, and nudged his shoulder against Jaskier’s. “You are important. The only reason I’m mythic and really I’d prefer I wasn’t, is because of you.” Geralt looked at him. “You are very important.”

“Your naked ass is transferring fish smell to our bed. You are sleeping on this side tonight,” was all Jaskier said. Geralt nodded. They went to bed, both of them awake. They agreed after a bit to switch back, well used to sleeping on the opposite sides.

*

The day was perfect, and in his nerves, Jaskier kept buying Geralt and Ciri stuff, until Geralt insisted he stop. He made them sit at one of the tables that had been put out, and went to get food from one of the stalls. The leather work booth still had that belt that made him think of Jaskier. He negotiated hard and secured the belt. He brought mutton and the gift back to their table. He put the food down and thrust the belt at Jaskier. “For luck. Today. Not that you need it. Everyone else sounds like crap.”

“That’s so sweet,” Ciri said.

“And what do I sound like, Geralt. Tell me honestly, how is my singing?” Jaskier was wrapping the belt around his waist in some sort of elaborate fashion that had nothing to do with holding his trousers up.

Geralt had lost count over the years how many times Jaskier had asked him that. He had always said the worst thing he could think of just to wind Jaskier up. But he thought of the nerves that Jaskier had expressed, and for once in their time together told the truth. “You sound like comfort and happiness, and I think of your voice when we are apart.”

It seemed that saying that got the same flummoxed reaction out of Jaskier, and he enjoyed the fact that he had stunned the man. Geralt ate the mutton, and the mayor announced that the contest would begin soon, all bards were to gather. “Go,” Geralt reminded him. He moved his chair to better see where the bards would be singing. There were 4 men and 2 women in total. Jaskier was by far the most attractive of the lot. “He has this,” Geralt said softly, mostly to himself.

“Of course he does, he’s the best ever,” Ciri said of the confidence a child has for their heroes.

The contest rules were announced and it was fairly simple - each bard would sing a song and after the crowd would cheer for that favourites. A far less formal contest than some that Jaskier had taken part in. The winning purse was also a pittance, but there was also a beautiful pin from the metal work stall, and a small travel drum. The first singer was fine, and the second, the youngest was struck by nerves and vomited. The crowd clapped in sympathy when the poor man ran away. The next was really good, but then was Jaskier and he was clearly the best. The other two, Geralt didn’t even pay attention to. He and Ciri clapped furiously when Jaskier’s name was called.

When it was down to Jaskier and a woman, the challenge became different. It turned into a call and response sort of thing, where they were making up the song on the fly, the lead would create a verse, and the other had to respond with the next and so on, until one of them faltered. “Shit,” Geralt groaned this wasn’t great.

“What’s wrong?” Ciri whispered.

“He spends hours, days, working on songs - slowly, methodically. Improvisation like this isn’t his best skill.”

“Oh,” Ciri bit her lip, a bit worried. “He’ll manage.”

“The them for the battle of words is -” The mayor paused and the crowd stomped their feet. “Sing of your true love.”

“He’ll sing about this one countess,” Geralt said certain. Years he had been hearing about her; he hated the woman that he had never met.

“Why? If it is about true love, he’ll obviously sing about you,” Ciri replied.

The woman won the coin toss and began to sing about her warrior love, and it was quite beautiful, the description detailed but not too many words. Jaskier strummed the rhythm she had begun. Geralt could see he was stalling for time. He leaned forward trying to will Jaskier. “Come on, come on,” Geralt muttered. 

The table next to them one of the men jeered, clearly well full of ale, “Loser! No one would love you enough to be worth a song, not with that stupid hair.”

Geralt growled low in his throat. “Shut up, or I’ll shut you up,” he snarled. “My bard.” The last may have come out a bit too loudly, because the whole square went silent. He looked to Jaskier who just rolled his eyes.

“Your love?” Jaskier taunted as he sang. “I’ll sing to you of a love so pure, you’ll wonder at what you sing -” Jaskier began and was off. Geralt leaned back in his chair and listened as Jaskier talked of a lover that was cruel and insulting, and hurt him at every turn. 

“How the fuck is that going to win him this?” Geralt muttered. “And I am finding the countess that made him feel like that and explain to her the error of her ways.”

“Oh, Geralt, you are an idiot. He’s talking about before, the before you two knew you were in love. Listen.” The woman sang back, mocking Jaskier’s love, and Jaskier then countered with knowing it was true not because of his love’s words but because of his actions. Jaskier described an event that was well familiar to Geralt. “That is me in the song.”

“No shit,” Ciri said. “I am so shocked that I was right.”

The song kept going back and forth the woman trying to mock the lack of flowery language and love gestures from Jaskier’s person he was singing about, and Jaskier countering with everything that was better than those sorts of things. When white hair and yellow eyes were brought up, the whole crowd was looking at Geralt. Geralt really wanted to walk away from the attention but he couldn’t leave Jaskier mid competition.

And when the song switched to prowess in bed, Ciri covered her ears and started humming Toss a Coin to herself. The woman asked how it felt to be taken by a monster and Geralt decided she needed to die.

“What makes you think that is the way this song ends?” Jaskier wiggled his brows and smirked, “My cock always makes my love spend.” The crowd roared, Geralt changed his plan to killing Jaskier, and the woman laughed and bowed.

“You win with that, bard!” she shouted.

“Spend what?” Ciri asked, and Geralt further changed his plan to killing himself.

“Just cheer for Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Go on, bet he’d love your company there.” He nudged her and Ciri ran to Jaskier who pick her up and spun her around. He kept an arm around her as he expected the praise and prizes.

“Who is this lovely young woman?” The mayor asked loudly.

“My daughter,” Jaskier answered automatically, Geralt could see the joy on Ciri’s face that Jaskier called her such, and he remembered the conversation he had overheard last night. He nodded to himself; he would build good memories today, and then let them be happy. All the bards started to sing together and Geralt went up. He bowed to Ciri. 

“My lady,” he said and held out his hand. Geralt and Ciri were the first to dance, though soon a crowd grew around them. He made sure to dance thrice with Ciri, and then passed her off to a boy her age. He spent the last of his coins buying trinkets for her, pretty little things. He looked for something else for Jaskier, but nothing seemed to express what he would want it to say. So he left it be.

“She already has enough, how are we ever going to travel with it?” Jaskier huffed when he came over and saw what Geralt bought. “I know I said spoiling, but really.”

They weren’t going to have to worry about travel, so it wasn’t a big deal. “We’ll figure it out,” Geralt said.

“I am sorry, for what I said,” Jaskier replied.

“Oh about the fact that I come on your cock?” Geralt asked.

“No, if we ended up in bed, that would absolutely happen,” Jaskier replied, “I’m really great at fucking men. No, that I called your daughter, mine. It just slipped out, and I apologize for that.”

Geralt was honestly flummoxed. “You’ve really fucked men?”

“So many gorgeous people in the world Geralt, and you made me ageless. I was going to enjoy them.” Jaskier looked at him.

“You haven’t been though.”

“Neither have you,” Jaskier commented. “Barring Yennefer, because you are physically incapable of not fucking her, you haven’t bedded anyone since we resumed traveling together.”

Geralt didn’t answer that. “You always complain about vengeful husbands coming after you. No vengeful wives?”

“No, they tend to go right to the source or were in bed with us too.” Jaskier winked, and Geralt snorted, just a little bit. “We are so very off track though. I am sorry that I called what is yours, mine.”

“She is a human, she doesn’t belong to anybody.”

“Oh you know what I mean, don’t be that man.”

Geralt looked at him. “She is yours, as well,” he said.

“Ours,” Jaskier replied. “Dance?”

“No. I’d like to hear you sing.”

“As you like. The Wild Rose is always a crowd pleaser.” Jaskier stood up.

“Toss a Coin,” Geralt requested. “Please?” He wondered at the look Jaskier was giving him. “Please?” he repeated. He wanted to hear Jaskier sing it once more. Before he was stuck hearing inferior singers on the road.

“You hate that song.”

“No, I don’t,” Geralt shrugged. “Or I thought I did. Hell, maybe I did. But I would like you to sing it.”

“Fine.” Jaskier moved through the crowd and joined with the other singers for a couple songs and then began the opening strains of the song and the crowd cheered. Geralt realized his error, because there was a huge crowd singing along and he could barely hear Jaskier. And Jaskier wasn’t moving closer, wasn’t even looking at Geralt as he sang. Geralt stood and moved to the edges of the crowd. He wanted to just walk away, but he couldn’t. He had to keep an eye on Ciri.

He growled when hours later a boy kissed her and gave her a flower. But he didn’t move closer to kill him. He overheard people talking about how Jaskier’s shirt had opened more as the day had gone on, and how they wouldn’t mind petting that chest hair.

“Mine,” Geralt snapped and they looked at him and grinned.

“We know, we heard the song. Just saying,” they laughed. “Besides isn’t it more that you are his?” More laughter and they left, not realizing just how hard that hit Geralt. He was so lost in thought he didn’t even see Ciri and Jaskier come to him. Jaskier had to poke his shoulder. 

“What?”

“We’re ready to go home,” Jaskier said.

“A boy kissed me,” Ciri said dreamily. “Right here.” Her finger traced the edge of her mouth. “It was a bit wet. Are all kisses wet?”

“Only some,” Jaskier said. “When a person sticks their tongue in your mouth.”

“Why would you do that?” Ciri asked. Geralt guided them towards home.

“Because it feels good,” Jaskier said. He then frowned. “I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“Someone kept giving him ale,” Ciri explained to Geralt.

Geralt rolled his eyes, at least that would make his plan easier. They went home, and Ciri was the one to have a nice long bath, thinking they were hitting the road tomorrow. She kept singing romance songs in there, and Jaskier kept talking about needing to write more songs about young love, first love.

“Who was your first love?” Jaskier asked sleepily, exhausted from the day, mellowed by ale.

“I can hardly remember that far back,” Geralt said. He strove to remember a feeling like what Ciri seemed to be feeling and came up at a loss. “Far too long ago.”

“Her name was Kristina,” Jaskier smiled at Geralt. “She was an older woman. Always had a thing for older. I was 14, she was 17.”

Geralt chuckled a bit at that.

“Servant girl. I mooned after her, did her chores for her. She kissed my head like I was a puppy. I proposed, promised to make her my Viscountess.”

“And?”

“She married a goat herder. She could have had all this luxury, but she really liked goats.”

“Her loss.”

“Where do our travels take us tomorrow?” Jaskier asked. “And please say we don’t have to head out at dawn.”

“No, you won’t have to leave at dawn.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Jaskier said. “Ciri have you drowned in there?”

“No,” she called back. “I’m fine.”

“Good, don’t drown!”

Geralt smiled a bit. “You’ll take good care of her.” 

“I have for the last couple months haven’t I?”

“You have,” Geralt said solemnly. Ciri came out of the bathroom, and Geralt went in. There was a bucket of water left and he washed his face. He hung his head, and wondered why his chest felt so tight. He was doing the right thing. This would make them happy. They spent an hour talking and when Ciri was more yawn than word, they went to the bedchamber. Geralt wasn’t surprised when Jaskier was asleep not long after. But he didn’t leave right away. He sat there and watched Jaskier sleep.

For an hour.

Two.

He gathered his things and quietly left the bedroom. He saw Ciri on the chaise and she was a deep sleeper, but he didn’t want to risk it. No matter how he wanted to touch her hair one more time, he didn’t. He just let himself out of the rooms.

Geralt would see them happy.

Only as he went down the steps, it grew more difficult. There was some sort of spell on his legs, he couldn’t go on. Halfway down the stairs he sat, put the bags down on the steps below him. He was confused. He could pick his feet up, move them fine. But every time Geralt thought of standing, of walking away from them, he felt frozen. Geralt could not get up and leave. He closed his eyes. Just sat there, unmovable.

“You know, I have forgiven you a lot over the years, but I don’t know that I forgive this, if you go.”

“I can’t,” Geralt said.

“Can’t stay, I am fucking aware of that.”

“No, I can’t move,” Geralt replied. “Some magic has me stuck here.”

“Yes, there is a magic sit on steps spell, that was just waiting for you to walk out on your daughter in the middle of the night.”

“As you see, I’m not walking anywhere Jaskier. I’m stuck!”

“There is no magic holding you there! Get up and walk away, like you always fucking do, when maybe just maybe you might have some happiness in your life.” Jaskier sounded cold, angry, defeated. “I’ll make sure to get Ciri back to Yennefer.”

“I was trusting her to you, to her father!”

“You are her father,” Jaskier snapped. “Though she deserves better.”

“I know she does, that is why I was fucking leaving. So you two can stay here, like you wanted!”

“Why would we want to stay here?” Jaskier was clearly at a lost. “Gods, this place is boring after a week. Why we were only staying five days.”

“But you two love it here.”

“Of course we do, everyone loves vacation, rest. You’ve had a good time. Would you like to stay forever?”

“Ugh, no.” He had relaxed and enjoyed himself, but he needed to be on the road, fulfilling his duty. “I need to -”

“Exactly,” Jaskier came and sat down next to him. “Geralt,” he clearly was pausing to think through his words. Geralt felt less frozen with Jaskier sitting beside him. Like he could move again, but he stayed still. “Geralt, do you know…no…fuck, right. I need you to not mouth off and be an asshole.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d love to,” Jaskier said.

Geralt was frozen again. He turned his head and looked at Jaskier. “What?”

“Why were you leaving, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “The real reason. The true reason.”

“Because I want the two of you to be happy. And you are happy here, and with each other. I just want you to be happy.”

“How did you not see, we were that happy because we were doing it all with you?” Jaskier took a deep breath, and Geralt could smell the fear seeping from Jaskier just a bit as he reached out and held Geralt’s hand. “Do you know why I have spent decades dealing with your complete and utter asshole loner tendencies?”

“Because it is good fodder for songs.”

“Well to be fair that is in there too,” Jaskier smiled, just a little, “I’ve written great songs because of you. But also because you are my best friend. Because you are more.”

“I hurt you so much.”

“You did, but I also annoyed the fuck out of you. We enjoy that. But you have kept me safe, and never actually after the very first trip objected when I appeared beside you. That was as good as open arms from anyone else.” Jaskier sighed. “You spent how long alone? After how long being trained out of emotion. I knew it would take a long time, years, to get you to see what you so clearly felt. Didn’t think it would take decades. But you are a stubborn dolt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t expect you do.” Jaskier stood up. “There is no magic on these steps, Geralt. The only reason you couldn’t leave was you.”

Jaskier went back up to the rooms, and Geralt sat sitting on the steps, until he shifted and a splinter in his ass made him stand up. He stumbled down a couple steps and realized that Jaskier was right. He could move just fine. Geralt picked up the bags and went upstairs. He left them by the door and went into the bedroom. He stripped down and slid into the bed. “You,” he said softly.

“Ass, tit, idiot are usually what you follow up ‘you’ with when it sounds that exasperated.” Jaskier was buried in the blankets.

Geralt moved slowly and put an arm around Jaskier and pulled him close, so their bodies were touching, aligned. “You asked about my first love, a young love. There wasn’t one. There was just training, and random fucks, and whores. Monsters and death, and being hated. And you.” Geralt closed his eyes. “There is just…you.”

Geralt thought that sounded decent. Even romantic.

“You are going to have to get better at this. Feelings and talking about them.”

“Fuck,” Geralt didn’t whine, but it was close.

Jaskier snorted. “You almost abandoned us, so no, we are not fucking tonight.” 

“That suggests we may in the future.”

“Before we leave in the morning, one of us should procure certain liquids from that whorehouse down the way.”

“I like the sound of that,” Geralt replied. He found himself rubbing his chin on Jaskier’s head. “I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I am happy with you, you fucking idiot.”

Geralt moved and lightly bit his shoulder. “Going to make you walk extra tomorrow.”

“You’ll deal with my smelly feet then.”

“Doesn’t bother me that much.” Geralt thought about how many scents in the world overwhelmed him, and how disgusting Jaskier’s feet got, and how it didn’t especially bother him. Hadn’t for a dozen years at least. “Fuck, how long have I been in love with you?”

Jaskier turned in his arms. “How should I know, you are a stoic bastard. I mean let us talk about -”

Geralt pressed his mouth against Jaskier’s, realizing that he had a new way of shutting the man up. Jaskier’s mouth opened under his, and Geralt pressed his tongue in. When they broke apart, he smiled. “You are right, you know, tongues do feel good.” Jaskier was doing his stunned silent fish mouth gaping, and Geralt rolled him back over and snuggled him in close. Geralt fell asleep as Jaskier was still at a loss for how to respond.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's start to earn that rating shall we?

Geralt had to admit that he was a bit confused. It had been three weeks on the road since the coast, they were mostly meandering about. He had taken a job that paid decently enough, but they were mostly just camping. Ciri could climb a tree quicker than he had ever seen a person do, she had become a fair hand at rabbit snares, but couldn’t stomach shooting a dear. She had problems with starting a fire, but knew her weeds. They were working on her being able to find her way, listen to the woods. They had closed her eyes and spun her around, walked her through the woods, and now she had to find her way back to camp. Jaskier was back there, softly strumming to give her a thing to listen for. Eventually she’d have to find it in silence, in the dark, but they were starting small. Geralt watched her stand there, ready to aid her.

He watched her lip quiver, and almost went to her. This was a bad idea, she was thinking of those weeks she was lost after Cintra. He just wanted to bundle her up, promise her she’d never have to hunger, hurt, ache. He wanted to keep her safe. Geralt forced his feet to stay still. Because he was keeping her safe. 

“Geralt? Father?” 

He almost moved forward at that, but he knew she could do this. They talked about it. She knew he was watching even if she couldn’t see him. Geralt stayed still and watched her nod to herself. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Geralt could almost just hear Jaskier. But she couldn’t and she started to walk in the wrong direction. He kept an eye on her, dagger in hand, and wished she held one of the weapons she carried in her hand as well.

Geralt was building a mental list of everything she needed to know to do better next time. He was relieved when she stopped and turned back. She went to her starting place, and started over. And again. Oh, that was clever. She was going ten paces in each of the cardinal directions and returning to center. He nodded approvingly and after she had done all four, she headed off, and this time it was the right direction.

He kept a pace with her, and when there was a branch break she pulled out one of her daggers. They needed to work on her weapon draw, make it smoother. Make it instinct. But she held it well, confidently, sure, even as she wasn’t. “Keep moving,” he whispered to himself. But she stayed frozen. Never good, they’d have to work that out of her. Another noise and she bounded like a deer. They’d have to work on that as well. But she was moving. And Jaskier could be heard now. He listened and whatever was in the woods was of no threat to them. Geralt followed along and was able to watch her crash into camp and into Jaskier’s arms.

“I have you,” Jaskier promised. He held her tight and she was sobbing. “I have you. Not the memories, not the past. Me. Someone you didn’t know then. You aren’t back there. You are not lost. You’ll never be lost again.” Jaskier was holding her close. “You are entirely found.”

Ciri gave a watery laugh at that, and Geralt moved into their small camp. “Not awful,” he told her. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier glared at him. “Not now.”

Geralt felt a bit helpless. In training there had been no hugs, just being told everything you did wrong, and punishment training to make amends until you got it perfect and then your praise was a simple “Done. Onto the next.” He knew that was wrong, he had never punished Ciri for not being perfect, but Jaskier provided enough praise, he was there to teach her, to provide strength. He poked at the fire bit.

“I should have had my knife in hand the whole time.”

“In the morrow will be fine,” Jaskier said firmly. “Because, my dear, my brave princess, you made it home. You completed the task. And in good time. The details can wait until the morning.” 

Geralt nodded, “In the morning will be fine. You made it, and that is good work.”

Ciri was watching him. “Really?”

“Better than me trying to teach Jaskier similar.” Geralt smirked a bit. “He just sat in the woods and started singing. Didn’t even try to find camp.”

“Why not?”

“What happened then Geralt?” Jaskier asked sweetly.

“I left you, went back to camp.”

“And then?” 

Geralt sighed. “And then it grew dark and I worried about you, went and found you.”

Jaskier nodded. “See, I could have wandered around the woods, but I am not good with all that follow the sun, and the way lichen grows and blah blah blah, tracker stuff. I would have found a werewolf den, or sprained an ankle, or landed in a poison bush.”

“You wouldn’t have been that bad,” Ciri protested.

“Those are all things that have happened when I sent him to get fire wood,” Geralt replied.

“But…stay put, let him hear me. And he’ll come. Geralt always finds me, when I go missing.”

“You’ve gone missing on me for years,” Geralt pointed out.

“In the woods, when we’re traveling. Not see you around in a city. In a city, we rely on my sense of direction. Would you like me to share with Ciri that time you mistook a church for a whorehouse?”

“I would not,” Geralt said firmly. “I’m going to go check the snares.”

“I’ll come,” Ciri offered. “They are my snares.”

“Rest,” Geralt said. He went and there were a couple plump rabbits in the lines and he was pleased. He collected some edible flowers and weeds. Good eating tonight. He brought it back and was about to suggest that Ciri should practice her skinning but, Jaskier was braiding her hair. It had grown a bit, and Ciri’s eyes were closed, a blissful smile on her face.

He cleaned the rabbits, and checked the entrails. No portents screamed. It was an old wives tale, but sometimes he checked. He took what they didn’t need away for other creatures to eat. He spit the rabbits and put them above the fire. Washed his hands from the water they had collected. “Lovely,” he told Ciri when Jaskier finished.

“Your turn,” Ciri said. “Your hair is still longer than mine, bet Jaskier can make it look really nice. But you know…angry braids?”

“How would he make braids angry?” Geralt had to ask.

“I’ll leave the flowers out,” Jaskier promised and quirked a brow at Geralt. “I admit, I’ve always wanted to braid your hair.”

Geralt nodded and moved in front of Jaskier. Jaskier was on a log. He pulled the tie out of Geralt’s hair and started combing it, with a comb, but then switch to his fingers. Bastard knew how much Geralt loved that. Geralt was not going to purr in front of Ciri. They were sharing a pallet at night, because Geralt had discovered he did not like sleeping without Jaskier in his arms. But they had not done anything else. 

Geralt had expected more from Jaskier, once they were together. More singing, or hand holding, just more; he couldn’t even say what more, just more. But it was as they ever were - traveling, snarking, Jaskier singing, Geralt killing things. And now sharing a pallet. He wondered if maybe when Jaskier joked about fucking Geralt it had just been that, that Jaskier wasn’t interested. Maybe Geralt had misread or misunderstood everything.

Jaskier’s fingers pressed against his skull and stroked and Geralt forgot his worries. Because this was feeling good. Jaskier started working and there were tugs and those felt good in a different way. He was glad his leg was canted up, making it difficult to notice that Jaskier’s touch was more arousing than anticipated.

Far too soon, or not soon enough, Jaskier finished, and kissed Geralt’s head. “Yes, you are letting me do this more.”

“You look really good, Geralt,” Ciri said. 

Jaskier pulled a small mirror from his bag and Geralt…didn’t actually hate it. It was three small braids that met in the back and formed one braid, the underneath still lose. “This would be useful in a fight, keep the hair well back.” 

“And it makes your eyes stand out even more, pulled back that severely,” Jaskier replied. He checked the rabbits on the spits, rotated them a bit and Geralt frowned.

“That is not a good thing.”

“Why?” Jaskier looked over at him. “Your eyes are gorgeous. In my top three Geralt’s best features list.”

“You have a list?”

Jaskier didn’t answer that, just went back to his lute. Geralt ignored Ciri’s giggles. He wanted to know about that list now, dammit. But he didn’t press. The night went as usual, Jaskier teaching Ciri how to play the drum that had been a part of his prize package. She was not bad on it, growing steady with simply rhythms, and it sounded nice with the lute and Jaskier’s singing. They ate, and there was more music, and at Ciri’s request, Geralt told a story, simple, sparse, but he shared. Of himself, of the world. When it was dark, he pointed to the stars and explained how they would guide her if she was lost. Told stories of them as well. They had been the only fanciful stories their trainers had told them. 

As always Jaskier sang her to sleep.

“I’m going for a walk,” Geralt replied. Jaskier assumed he was going to deal with his body’s needs, and he was. Because he needed to wank before pulling Jaskier to him in the pallet so that he didn’t beg for what he wanted from the man. The scent of Jaskier filled his nose every night, made him ache so much, that a wank before hand at least made him not desperate, not want to claw at Jaskier like an animal.

Like a monster.

He was far enough away for privacy, but near enough to easily be back if they called. Geralt leaned against a tree and undid his trousers. He pulled his cock out and thought about Jaskier as he slowly began to stroke himself. He couldn’t take forever, Jaskier would start to wonder, but he didn’t like to rush the start. He thought of Jaskier’s hands against his scalp, and wondered what they’d feel like against his chest - when not cleaning up wounds - how he would stroke, squeeze. Fuck, what noises would Jaskier make with his mouth full of Geralt’s cock. He wondered how Jaskier would feel in his mouth.

Geralt wanted to draw out the feeling more, but the need was growing. His strokes grew firmer and quicker and he had to stifle a groan. He found himself saying Jaskier’s name aloud, the barest whisper. He was sinking into the feeling when he heard footsteps. That he well recognized. “Go back to camp, Jaskier,” he called before the man was too close to see what Geralt was doing. Luckily the man had dreadful night vision.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Jaskier said. “Gone a while. You fine?”

Geralt tugged his balls hard, to make himself focus, not beg Jaskier to come over. “Fine. Just needed a bit of space. I’ll be along.”

“You sound odd, I’m coming over.”

“Stop,” Geralt snarled.

“If you are sick, I don’t mind, I can help. Helped hold your intestines in one time for fuck’s sake,” Jaskier snapped.

“I’m not sick,” Geralt closed his eyes. “I’m wanking, Jaskier.”

There was silence, but he wasn’t walking away.

“Well then, I really would like to come over,” Jaskier replied. “Watch or touch. Something. Unless you don’t want me to. Don’t want me?”

“I’m out here stripping my cock bare every fucking night because of how much I want you!” Geralt realized his voice had risen and the last few words were shouted. The woods went very quiet and he prayed that didn’t wake Ciri up. Thank fuck, she slept fairly deeply. He sighed. “Shit.”

He didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes as he heard Jaskier approach, felt the man stop in front of him. “I want you so fucking much,” Geralt said.

“A few weeks ago, you didn’t even like me, so excuse me for giving you time, to adjust to everything.”

“I have liked you for a very long time,” Geralt said. “I just didn’t have the words for the feelings.”

“But you do now.”

“Clearly not, if you thought I didn’t want you. I thought you didn’t want me. Not in this way.”

“Fuck, I’ve adopted your communication levels too much,” Jaskier said.

Geralt went very still as Jaskier’s hand slowly wrapped around his cock. He began to stroke, and fuck. Every other touch against his skin was immediately forgotten. “Lute calluses,” he managed to say. Jaskier rubbed a callus across the head of his cock and Geralt groaned.

“Hmm,” Jaskier said and kept a steady pace of his hand over Geralt’s cock. “I want you, Geralt. I have for a very long time. Because fucking look at you.” His other hand pressed against Geralt’s chest. “Fucking feel you. But I also want you because of who you are.”

“You have mentioned an interest in monster fucking.” Geralt bit his lip and hissed when Jaskier pinched a nipple through his shirt. “Ow.”

“You like it.” 

He did. Geralt sank a hand into Jaskier’s hair, scraped his nails on the man’s scalp, curious if he liked it as much as Geralt did. Jaskier leaned into the touch, but it seem to draw out of him what it did for Geralt. “What do you like?” Geralt asked.

“You,” Jaskier replied.

Geralt huffed a bit. “What do you like?” He tugged at Jaskier’s hair, to move his head back and kissed his throat.

“That,” Jaskier replied, breathless. “Sensitive neck, like kisses and nips.” 

Geralt could happily oblige that and strung kisses and licks across the skin, rubbed his stubble against it.

“Ciri is going to ask about the stubble burn,” Jaskier pointed out.

“You’ll think of an answer,” Geralt replied and properly kissed Jaskier. Jaskier’s hand tightened on his cock, and Geralt groaned against Jaskier’s lips. “More,” he begged against the man’s skin, and kissed him again.

“Are you hungry for me, Geralt?”

“I would fucking devour you, and you’d beg me to do it all over again,” Geralt gasped. 

“Is it true that Witcher’s can go all night?” 

“No,” Geralt said. He paused. “Well, depends on the night.” He looked at Jaskier, seeing him in the dark. “That is mostly shit you made up.”

“Been in the room next to you in whorehouses or when you were with Yennefer, my friend, only a little made up based on the sounds I heard.” His strokes were getting faster and he kept pressing his thumb against the slit, making Geralt’s head swim. “Bet when I fuck you, make you forget everything.”

“You already do,” Geralt promised. He leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s, and just let himself feel. Jaskier’s hands were so fucking good, and soon Geralt was spilling onto the forest floor. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“When we have a bed, wall between us and Ciri,” Jaskier replied. 

They were finding a village tomorrow. “Can I?” Geralt asked.

“Can you what?” Jaskier was clearly at a loss. How could he not understand Geralt wanted to give to him too?

Geralt sank to his knees and opened Jaskier’s trousers. He was hard, hot. Perfect. “Can I?” Geralt repeated.

“Yes?” Jaskier squeaked, and Geralt sank his mouth down Jaskier’s length, until his nose brushed the hair at the base of that perfect cock. “Fucking hell, Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled a bit around the length, pulled back and sank down. He loved going down on people, but didn’t get as much opportunity for it as he would like. People expected to go to their knees for the Witcher, not that he might like to do the same. They didn’t trust a monster to not hurt them. But Jaskier trusted him. Had his hands in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt hummed contentedly at the feel. He brought Jaskier off quickly and caught the man when he collapsed against him.

Geralt sat on the ground, careful not to sit in his spend, and held Jaskier in his lap. “I’m going fall asleep with the taste of you in mouth,” Geralt was well pleased with that fact.

“Your dick has moved to number one on my Geralt’s best features list. Sorry giant shoulders, you lose to giant cock.”

Geralt laughed a little. “We should go back to camp.”

“A minute to recover please.”

Geralt gave him his minute and then they tidied themselves and returned to camp where Ciri was snoring. Both were relieved that she hadn’t heard anything. They lay down on the pallet, and Geralt pulled him close. “Why haven’t you been more?”

“More what?”

“Touchy, singing love songs, I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“Because you’d hate that,” Jaskier replied after a moment.

Geralt thought about it. “A little more touching would not be vile,” was what he managed to say. His hand was brought to Jaskier’s mouth and Jaskier sucked at two of his fingers, and Geralt had to muffle his moan against the man’s neck. “We are going to a village,” he whispered against that skin that he wanted to eat up. 

Jaskier just laughed.

He kissed Jaskier’s neck and they fell asleep replete from their touches.

In the morning Geralt heard footsteps and rolled away from Jaskier and had a knife up faster than a single breath. Ciri pouted, holding her daggers. “You need to slide your feet on the earth, you pick up and put down, you can be heard.”

“I thought his snores would cover it,” she said.

“A fair guess, but I am so used to their sound, I register only their absence, not their existence.”

“Awww,” Ciri smiled, “That is so sweet.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Are you ready to know how much you fucked up in yesterday’s test?”

“I am,” she said. “He wouldn’t like you phrasing it like that, though.”

“I know, why I said it when he was asleep.”

“I can hear you,” Jaskier said sleepily. “Go try to kill each other away from camp and let me sleep.”

Geralt lead Ciri into a clearing and they began their lesson for the day.


	12. Chapter 12

Geralt stared at the cockatrice. “I hate you,” he said. He could have been in a bed, with Jaskier. But he wasn’t, he was out here hunting. First village they find in a couple weeks, and they practically fall to their knees that a Witcher has appeared. And a cockatrice in heat could not wait. He wanted to argue at this point his dick couldn’t wait, but he couldn’t exactly say that to the goddamn village priestess. 

He almost did though.

The cockatrice screamed at him, and he was in just enough of a mood to scream back. He could be getting full of Jaskier’s cock right now - for the first goddamn time, but he had a fucking swore duty to protect people. People were highly overrated he’d like to point out. Geralt was just distracted enough that the cockatrice got a good swipe in. Didn’t draw blood but knocked him down. He was about to hop up, thoroughly done with this whole day, when magic seemed to blast the cockatrice away.

And exploded it.

“Some of that corpse is worth money,” he roared. Fuck, he could have bought Jaskier something for once, with the heat glands of that cockatrice.

Also he was covered in…things now. Thank the gods that Jaskier somehow wasn’t completely repulsed by that. He stood up ready to just lay into the person who did that, and felt an actual smile grow on his face. “Triss,” he said surprised. “You live nowhere near here.”

“No but these woods are the only to grow this one flower I need, and it is almost the full moon after longest day. Lots of fun to be had.”

Longest day fun often meant wine and naked dancing. He was a big fan of the full moon after longest day, when he had been allowed to partake with some sorceresses. But that meant his time with Ciri was half done. He rubbed a hand over his heart, it was aching, and came away with feathers. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I am sure. Where is Ciri, you are traveling with her?” Triss looked around. “You are traveling with her.”

“Of course I am,” Geralt snapped. “She is in the village.”

“You left her alone in a town!” Triss glared at him. “There are people who want her dead.”

“I left her with her father, Triss.” Triss gestured at him, and Geralt made a face, “girl can have more than one father,” he muttered. He scratched his cheek a bit, removing some flesh or something. He didn’t like the way Triss was staring at him, through him, and then she actually giggled and clapped.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes,” Geralt shrugged, feeling awkward. “I suppose I could introduce you?”

“Oh we’ve met,” she waved a hand. “I cannot wait to see him again.”

“How the fuck does everyone know my bard?” Geralt asked. 

“Your bard?” Triss was beaming at him. Geralt decided to ignore that and went to the corpse. There was just enough left to at least prove the thing was dead and get the reward. He collected a few body parts and headed back to town. He put Triss on Roach and walked, carrying said body parts, and listened as she praised Jaskier. His looks, his talent, his hands.

“Wait…what?” Geralt stopped and glowered at her. “What do you know about his hands?”

Triss smirked at him, and for a moment he debated killing the only sorceress he actually had no ill feelings for. Because he did love Yennefer, but he also regularly wanted to murder her. Triss was like a little sister or something. 

He squinted at her.

“What?” she smiled at him. “Can’t blame a woman for liking fingers that have that much reach.”

“You and Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly. “Are you a…thing?”

He hated how cute her laugh was, especially because it was clearly directed at him. And she didn’t goddamn answer the question. He was not a jealous man. And Jaskier had a past with more in his forty years, than Geralt had in his 90 or so. He didn’t actually care, because he was sure Jaskier was his now. And he was Jaskier’s. With the exception of Yennefer, and they hadn’t actually talked about that yet, but he assumed she was an exception. Oh fuck, they were going to have to talk about that.

“Your thoughts are screaming right now,” Triss commented.

“Don’t listen,” Geralt replied.

“Hard not to, they are just floating around your head, for anyone to see if they look.” Triss was whistling. “Don’t you just love his…reach?” Geralt was quiet. “Geralt?” she asked. “You aren’t being you are you?”

“We haven’t had a chance,” Geralt muttered. “Ciri, woods, not done much.”

“Oh, that hurts,” Triss sounded like she honestly was in pain. “I am so sorry.”

“Because he has good reach.”

“And dexterous. All that lute playing, his fingers do not cramp or get tired. Like at all.”

Geralt was not going to respond to that. “At all?” he asked. Triss just laughed and didn’t answer him. He decided he hated her. Geralt was silent the rest of the time into town, his mind now wholly focused on thinking about Jaskier’s hands and fingers. How he could play for hours, and his voice gave out before his fingers ever did. He was so invested in the thoughts and his growing curiosity that he almost missed the building where he needed to show the evidence. Triss was laughing at him even more. He growled at her which she ignored, and he showed proof, got paid. He took her to the inn.

He wasn’t at all jealous at the way both Ciri and Jaskier both squealed and ran to hug Triss.

It was probably just that she wasn’t covered in bits of flesh and blood. They’d hug him in a moment.

“Hey,” Ciri called to him, “Auntie Triss, it is so good to see you. I missed you so much!” 

“Triss, my gorgeous fairy, how divine you look,” Jaskier said and Geralt couldn’t stop the snarl that came out when Jaskier bent low and kissed her hand. “It has been far too long.”

“I’ve missed you, Jaskier,” Triss and the snarl grew louder when she kissed him. Everyone was just ignoring him and he was starting to smell. 

“I’m having a bath,” Geralt snapped, and went to the bathing chamber. He softened a little when he saw that Jaskier had been keeping water ready for him. He stripped down and scrubbed with a cloth and oil before pouring the water into the tub and sinking in. He left his hair, though, hoping Jaskier would join him. He let his thoughts drift, and they immediately went back to Jaskier’s hands.

For a moment he pictured those hands on Triss and cursed. Jealousy was stupid. Jaskier had a history of fucking anyone willing, and he didn’t care. He honestly didn’t. But this was preying on his mind. Geralt focused on the hands themselves, just what the long fingers might reach. He really wanted to stroke himself to go along with those thoughts, but not will all the people in the next room. 

“It’s me,” Jaskier said as there was a knock.

“Sure,” Geralt agreed casually. He couldn’t hear other voices. He got as close as he ever did to a smile. “Hello,” he said and blinked when Jaskier began to slowly strip out of his clothes. “Ciri could -”

“Ciri was so excited by seeing her Auntie Triss, and Triss was so excited, that they have left.”

Geralt sat up. “Left where?”

“Some sort of ritual?” Jaskier shrugged. “Party thing. Girl time. I said as long as Ciri was returned to us with no permanent marks, we trusted Triss.”

“Dammit Jaskier, there are orgies at those things!” Geralt stood in the bath and glared at him. “I know, I’ve been to them.”

“Me too,” Jaskier snapped back. “Triss said she was going to take Ciri to a different one, a harmless one. It is Triss. Literally the one sorceress we know with three reasonable thoughts!”

“I should have been consulted first before you just sent our daughter off!” He watched Jaskier open his mouth, and close it. Geralt was aware they were sort of having a fight, naked, with him standing in a tub.

It was stupid, and felt entirely like how his first proper fight with Jaskier after they became whatever they were should happen.

“You are right,” Jaskier said after a moment.

“I know,” Geralt said. He paused. “Wait, you are agreeing with me.” Fuck. That was just weird. “What’s the catch?” There had to be a catch, Jaskier wouldn’t agree like that. 

“No catch. I knew you would say yes, it is Triss, so I just went ahead and did it, because Ciri looked so excited. But she is in your charge, your daughter first and foremost and I should have absolutely consulted with you first.”

“Did she look excited?” Geralt asked quietly.

“She was jumping up and down and saying please please please, I’ll be good.”

Geralt snorted. No way could have Jaskier withstood that. Geralt heard the sound of a portal opening in the other room, and quickly grabbed a cloth to cover his cock. Ciri barely knocked and ran into the bathroom. He smiled when she hugged him. “You have your weapons?” he asked.

“I do,” Ciri promised, still hugging him.

“Listen to Triss, no naked dancing, no wine -”

“Two sips,” Jaskier interjected.

“Two sips,” Geralt agreed. “Wear a million flowers in your hair. Think about who you are and who you want to be. Have fun.” He kissed her head, and looked at Triss. “Any harm comes to her -”

“Jaskier already very thoroughly threatened me, I was quite scared,” Triss promised. She was smirking a bit as they stood there, mostly naked. “She realized she hadn’t said goodbye to you. That she couldn’t enjoy her time away if she didn’t say goodbye.”

“Bye,” Ciri said against his chest.

Geralt gave her a squeeze. “Love you.”

Triss blinked and looked at Jaskier. “He actually expressed an emotion.”

Jaskier was smiling. “He does that now. At least once every four days.”

“Well,” she smiled and held out her hand, which Ciri took, waving to both Jaskier and Geralt. A moment later they were both gone.

Jaskier moved closer. “Am I forgiven?”

“Only if you get in this water with me.” 

“I think I can agree to those terms. Was afraid you’d want to spank me,” Jaskier joked.

“I could never hurt you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at him. “You hurt me all the fucking time, Geralt. I’m still here.”

That made Geralt ache. “I don’t want to hurt you, more than I have before.”

Jaskier moved closer to him, and Geralt purred as those fingers began to work on his hair. “I want to be very clear, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and poured what he used into his hands. “I don’t mind a wee bit of pain in bed.”

“I could break you in half if I lose focus,” Geralt replied. He leaned into the touch and moaned when those fingers began their work.

Jaskier just snorted. “You are a goddamn lap cat, when I start working on you. I am not worried. I bruise easily Geralt, you know this, and I do not want any of your noble bullshit when the next morning you see me covered in marks that I enjoyed in our bed.”

“I wouldn’t -” Geralt quieted when Jaskier tugged his hair and they looked each other in the eye. “I would. I would try to walk away.” He looked at Jaskier. “Don’t let me?”

Jaskier smiled. “I’m not letting you go anywhere without me, ever again,” he swore.

“Even Yennefer’s bed?” Fuck, Geralt was ruining the moment. Of course he was ruining the moment. “Never mind.”

“I think that rather depends on Yennefer,” Jaskier replied. He was scratching at the base of Geralt’s neck, and he curled into the touch. “I don’t mind the two of you.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” Jaskier promised. “Because I know you need each other, but I also know if you tried to spend longer than what ten days around each other, there would be a crater in the earth from you trying to kill each other. I would never deny you what you need. Might ask to watch, not gonna lie because seen you two and it is insanely attractive. But wouldn’t deny what you need. You are mine in a way you’ll never have with her.” 

Geralt pulled Jaskier onto his lap and kissed him hungrily. His hands were everywhere on Jaskier, feeling him, committing him to memory. “Mine,” he growled.

“Mine,” Jaskier growled back, and Geralt for the first time in a far too long life, found himself entirely charmed. 

“You and Triss,” Geralt said, pressing his fingers against Jaskier’s collarbone.

“Hmm, that was a fun week.”

“Is there anyone you haven’t fucked?” He asked, and felt like a complete asshole for the jealousy that was in his voice, after how Jaskier had been about Yennefer.

“Yes, point in face, you. Though I am hoping that changes tonight.”

Geralt bit Jaskier’s collarbone. “She said you are good with your fingers.”

“That is a lie, I am fucking brilliant with my fingers,” Jaskier said.

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and began to suck at his fingers, drawing two into his mouth, let them almost choke himself. He pulled them in and out of his mouth, maybe bit a little and enjoyed the way Jaskier groaned. “Yennefer,” Geralt said.

“Nope, pretty sure I’m still Jaskier.”

“Other than Yennefer, no one else for either of us,” Geralt looked at him. “Because I would likely kill anyone else I shared you with.”

“Now that is fucking romantic,” Jaskier said. He kissed the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “We need to discuss this with Yennefer, but that is fine by me.”

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s palm. “Triss did mention that your fingers have excellent reach and don’t cramp.”

“You want me to finger your ass until you come just off of that, because I would be delighted to do that.”

Geralt stood up in the bath, brought Jaskier up with him, and tossed him over his shoulder, and strode to the bed, them both dripping on the floor. They were alone and not going to be interrupted. They had waited long enough.

It was their time.

Now.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please enjoy my particular brand of porn. which tends to be porn with feels and lots of communication. i hope you like.

Geralt looked down at Jaskier on the bed, and almost smiled. “You are attractive,” he said softly.

“Wow, I am overwhelmed by the compliments. I feel like we should leave the flattery to me?”

“You declared a woman had a neck like a sexy goose,” Geralt climbed onto the bed, and lay on top of him. “We are both rubbish at this. I buy sex, and you mostly seduce married woman who are used to such shit husbands that you seem like a god in comparison.”

“I am not rubbish at this, and Yennefer is not the type to fake an orgasm, so clearly you aren’t complete rubbish either.”

Geralt should not find it so attractive when Jaskier looked offended by his words, but he did. He kissed Jaskier’s nose and nuzzled his own against the man’s jaw. It felt like Jaskier was melting underneath him. Geralt shifted a bit and Jaskier opened his legs so that Geralt fit between them. “Hmm,” Geralt said. 

“Hmm?” Geralt laughed against Jaskier’s throat as a foot angled and kicked his ass - Jaskier was rather bendy, that was good to know. “No, hmms, in bed thank you. We communicate in bed, so we know what each likes and doesn’t like.”

“If you communicate too much, I will gag you,” Geralt warned.

“No, I don’t like gags, hate them, mean I can’t scream for you to help me if I get in shit,” Jaskier said.

Geralt sat up a little and looked at him. “Jaskier.”

“It’s fine, only accidentally ended up in bed with a monster once. Thrice. Anyhoo, no gags.”

“No binding me.”

“I feel we were already going to be okay with this, but if you piss on me I will stab you in your sleep.”

Geralt smirked at him. “Won’t even piss on you if you are on fire.”

“Excellent,” Jaskier looked up at him. “In the future though, I am quite okay with blindfolds?”

“Cock rings,” Geralt replied. “Edging.” He liked that quite a bit, but seldom was able to have it. You needed to trust someone for that. And he trusted Jaskier. He trusted his bard more than anyone except perhaps his old mentor. And it was a very different sort of trust. Geralt looked sat up properly in between Jaskier’s legs, and looked at him. “Your bard clothes hide how strong your body is.” The man was not built like a Witcher but there there was far more muscle there than you expected. In the shoulders, arms, thighs. And his chest hair. Geralt wanted to pet it. And he could. He realized now, he could. Geralt stroked a hand down Jaskier’s chest and just to annoy the man said, “Hmm.” He was not prepared for the way Jaskier sat up and pushed him back until he was on top. Granted, he let Jaskier push him down, but still it was faster and stronger than he anticipated.

“You are in trouble for that hmm,” Jaskier warned him.

“What sort of trouble? I’m very frightened,” Geralt deadpanned. He cursed when Jaskier bit a nipple. “Fuck, warn a man. Especially one who is sensitive.”

“How sensitive?” Jaskier asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.” 

Fuck the bard’s endless curiosity, was the automatic thought Geralt had, used to that curiosity landing Jaskier in a world of pain. But as Jaskier licked one nipple, his hand began to lightly pinch the other, and for the first time in their decades of knowing each other, Geralt wanted to sing the praises of Jaskier’s curiosity. Geralt made some sort of noise. A grunt, a groan, and fuck Jaskier bit again and he saw goddamn stars. The air was cold against his wet skin when Jaskier pulled away and he made a whole different noise.

“Did you just whine?” Jaskier asked, far too gleefully for Geralt’s liking. “Did the White Wolf just fucking whine that I stopped playing with his delightful nipples?”

“No,” Geralt snapped and looked up at him. “There was something in my throat.”

“Yes, a whine.” Jaskier flicked one and Geralt’s cock jumped in harmony. “How goddamn close can I get you, just by playing with your nipples?” Another flick and Geralt made a warning noise low in his throat. Monsters had flinched away from that noise. Jaskier just flicked again. “Dammit Jaskier, get on with it!”

“Demanding aren’t we?”

“Considering I haven’t fucked anyone since Yennefer because I was falling in love with you, yes I am a little demanding.” He was accustomed to a lot more sex than he had been having the last few months. But the thought of a whore was repellent, when all that was in his mind had been Jaskier. Geralt was about to yell but Jaskier had one of those weird looks on his face. “What?”

“You love me,” Jaskier said softly.

“Of course I do, why else would I be putting up with this torture?” Geralt looked at him. “Jaskier,” fuck he wished he had the words that Jaskier did. “You are…there.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and Geralt grumbled. “You know what I mean. The you being there. It is good. Really good. The best.” There we go, that would work well.

“You being there is really good,” Jaskier agreed, understanding him completely. 

Geralt’s vision almost went white when Jaskier pinched a nipple with one hand, and wrapped the other around Geralt’s cock, squeezed hard. “Fuck,” Geralt groaned. 

“Can I?”

Geralt nodded and spread his legs. He absolutely didn’t whine again when Jaskier got off the bed. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Oil, you idiot.”

Oh, right, yes, that would be a good thing. The oil would be a very good thing. Geralt threw an arm over his eyes and began to stroke himself. 

“Fuck, I could watch you, just all the time, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, standing next to the bed. “Look at you.”

“I have a lot of scars. People like them.” Geralt was used to them being a thing for people.

“I know, I’ve patched up a few of them, remember?” Jaskier’s weight settled on the bed in between his legs. Geralt spread himself out a bit more, grateful it was a decent sized bed. He moved his hand away. “No, keep going,” Jaskier ordered gently, and Geralt was happy to oblige, his fingers comforting around his own cock. He heard the stopper of a vial being pulled. It was officially his favourite sound now. He stroked slowly, more a tease than a desire to get off - he didn’t want to get off until Jaskier was in him. He felt a slick finger press against him and shivered a bit. “How long since?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt was quiet as he tried to remember the last time someone had taken him. “Yennefer, a few times with a toy. Ummm, five years ago?”

“Fuck, Geralt, that is a goddamn crime.”

“I am fully aware.” Geralt laughed a bit. “But who wants to fuck a Witcher like that? It’s all about me being strong and fierce, the brute they tamed, they survived.”

“Well, at least you are done with that bullshit,” Jaskier said, and the finger circled, pressed in, and Geralt gasped and raised his hips. “Now you just have to deal with one annoying bard who loves you.”

“I’ll cope,” Geralt replied. “More,” he demanded. The finger was barely in him, and he wanted more. All. Everything.

He finally understood Yennefer screaming that to the heaven’s.

For the first time, he wanted everything. He sighed when that finger pushed all the way in. It was long and wonderful and Jaskier began to move it in and out, never quite leaving Geralt’s body. “Reach,” he managed to say.

Jaskier laughed, and it seemed Geralt was fated to whine like a damn pup throughout this encounter because that noise left his throat yet again when Jaskier’s finger pulled out of his body. But it was even better because next two were pushing in. Geralt arched into the touch wanted to pull as much of Jaskier into him as he could. Someday, maybe a decade from now, he’d mention his curiosity about fisting. But that might be too much. A decade of fucking and he’d bring it up.

“Fuck, look how hungry your body is, swear you’d let me put my whole hand in you.”

Or they were talking about it today. “One day,” Geralt grunted.

“Hmm,” Jaskier said, only it was a hungry sound, not the dismissive one Geralt used. “One day is going to be really fucking interesting.” His fingers were stroking inside Geralt and they felt fucking perfect, especially when those lute calluses pressed against his prostate. Geralt cursed and the rush of feeling made him squeeze his cock a little too tightly but when he relaxed his grip, his body did not care for that.

It had been a long time since a good fuck had made him feel like this, and they were just getting going. It was annoying that Jaskier was human and wouldn’t be able to quite keep up.

“You know the nice thing about whatever you did that made me ageless? You did it to me young enough, that I held on to a decent recovery time.”

“Stop reading my mind,” Geralt moved the arm off his eyes, and propped himself up a bit. “How are you doing that?”

“I have sex magic,” Jaskier grinned, and those fingers pressed again.

Geralt could believe it. He collapsed back. “More,” he demanded again.

Those fingers kept pushing in and out, stroking him, making the fire in his belly grow. He sped up his hand and another press of those fingers and he was coming on his stomach. His abs spasmed when they felt Jaskier’s tongue on them, licking up all the spend. “Fuck, Jaskier.”

“Can I?” he repeated and Geralt nodded.

He watched Jaskier slick his cock, and realized he hadn’t touched the man at all. That felt wrong. He reached out but Jaskier swatted the hand away. “I want to touch you.”

“Next round, because if I don’t get in you, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” Jaskier almost growled and the sound made Geralt’s cock want to harden again. He couldn’t, even a Witcher didn’t get hard again right away. Unless he fucked while still under the sway of the potions. But he and Jaskier were never experimenting with that.

“Will I ever get to fuck you when your eyes are black, and you are all worked up from a monster hunt?”

“Stop reading my mind and fuck me!” He was seriously asking Yennefer is sex psychic magic was a real thing next time he saw her. He felt the blunt head of Jaskier’s cock press against his hole and he spread his legs as far as he could. He looked up at Jaskier, who had one hand guiding himself, the other pressed against Geralt’s heart for balance. Geralt put his own hand on top of Jaskier’s and squeezed.

Jaskier slid in, in a slow steady motion until he was all the way in. Geralt groaned. Fuck that felt good. It felt like everything. “More.”

“Is that the only word you can say in bed?” Jaskier teased.

“Then don’t be so good,” Geralt replied. He reached up and put a hand on Jaskier’s throat. He didn’t squeeze, just pressed a little and enjoyed the way that Jaskier’s eyes darkened, his breath quickened. He kept his hand there as Jaskier began to snap his hips, pushed in and out of Geralt. They stared at each other, both silent, both entirely in the moment. Geralt couldn’t look away from his face.

Jaskier looked hungry, feral. His lips were curled, in a weird smile somewhere between pleasure and pain as he rocked into Geralt, as he pressed against the hand against his neck. He was so fucking gorgeous, it would break Geralt if he let it. He moved his hand away and smirked as it was Jaskier’s turn to whine. He began to stroke himself again, Jaskier’s cock in his ass having made him half hard. 

“Next round, I fuck you,” Geralt said. “Make you scream.”

“So much oil on that giant cock, Geralt,” Jaskier said and his hand joined Geralt’s. “And I’ll ride you until you see stars.”

“I’ve dreamed of -” Geralt went quiet, and hoped that Jaskier’s sex magic was real and would read his mind.

“What?” Jaskier asked softly and stilled. 

Geralt would swear until his dying day that he didn’t pout at the stilling of those perfect hips. “Please,” he whispered, and thankfully Jaskier started to move again. “I want to wake you up, fucking into you, claiming you.” There he said it. He wondered how Jaskier would feel about that. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier cursed and his balance slipped and he fell a bit on Geralt, and Geralt cursed as it stung when Jaskier’s cock popped out of him. “Sorry, sorry. But don’t say the most perfect thing ever mid thrust.” Jaskier steadied himself and pushed back into Geralt. “Sorry, sorry,” he said and as he was steadying himself pressed his hands against Geralt’s nipples and it was Geralt’s turn to curse.

He didn’t like the dark look in Jaskier’s eyes.

Jaskier twisted his nipples as he thrust in hard.

Geralt loved the dark look in Jaskier’s eyes.

It was fast and hard and everything, and he knew Jaskier was getting close and for the first time in his life, Geralt found himself babbling. “Gods, I want you to do this to me all the time. In camp, just press your fingers into me, leave them there teasing me until I would beg because we can’t be loud, can’t make a noise. Until your other hand has to cover my mouth to make sure I don’t scream at how good you make me feel. I want to blindfold you, make you wonder where my next touch will be, make you hunger for more, for everything. I want to choke on your cock every fucking day we are together. Decades and I’ll never tire of the taste of you Jaskier. Julian, I will never be over how fucking good it feels when you fuck me, and I am going to make you always feel the same.”

“Asshole,” Jaskier glared at him. “Don’t you fucking dare be perfect with words. That is my job. You sword, me words.”

Geralt smiled up at him. He had never felt as good as he did in that moment. “Jaskier, there is nothing ever going to be better than your cock in me.” He probably should not feel as smug as he did that it seemed that the words were what tipped Jaskier over, made him come. But he absolutely was.

He was getting close himself, and figured he could bring himself off again, because Jaskier really seemed to like watching that. But Jaskier pulled out of him and slid down his body. Those perfect fingers pushed into him again, come and oil making it easy. They stroked as Jaskier began to suck his cock.

Geralt saw stars. Jaskier couldn’t take all of him. There had only been one whore, once who had, but Jaskier was taking everything he could, moaning at the weigh in his mouth, sucking hard as those fingers stroked. “Jaskier,” he said and arched, choked Jaskier a bit as he flooded the bard’s mouth with come.

They lay on the bed, utterly replete, utterly exhausted.

Geralt had never felt quite so at peace after a good fuck. And it seemed he had fucked Jaskier into being quiet.

Eventually they cleaned up and set the bed to rights, lay down in it. Geralt pulled Jaskier close as he always did, buried his nose against Jaskier.

“You better goddamn wake me up, fucking me, or I swear, the songs I will write. The whole world will think you are a goddamn eunuch.”

“I love you too,” Geralt said. Jaskier was snoring soon after, thoroughly worn out. Geralt held him close until he fell asleep a few hours later. 

He woke Jaskier up, just like he promised he would. He wondered if the bed would actually survive what they were going to be doing the next couple of days. Not that he cared, not that he could think that much when he pressed into Jaskier. Because all his thoughts were of his bard.


	14. Chapter 14

“Ew, why does the room smell so gross?” Ciri asked, and Geralt was awake in an instant. He sat up and saw her and Triss standing there, the portal fading away.

“That better be paint,” Geralt said, staring at the blue swirls on Ciri’s face. There were flowers woven into her hair, and she was in a new dress. “Because if it is permanent -”

“Berry juice and magic, they’ll fade over the next couple weeks,” Triss promised. “Why does the room smell so gross, Geralt?” She was smirking, because she damn well knew what that smell was.

“Geralt ate the fish stew last night, his gas was horrendous,” Jaskier yawned and sat up. “Oh, are you not the prettiest picture?”

The only thing Geralt had eaten last night was Jaskier’s ass. And he was pretty sure the way Triss just tilted her head, that she had read that particular thought. He just shrugged and gestured helplessly at Jaskier, and her smirk softened to a smile. “I return to you, completely intact, your daughter. We had a wonderful time, and I think she learned a great deal.”

“I spoke to a fortune teller. She said my future was still mine to write. I don’t have to be a queen!” Ciri hopped onto the bed and quickly hopped off. “You two need a bath. I’ll go request some water.” Ciri left the room, skipping, looking incredibly content.

“What happened?” Geralt glared at Triss. “She is the lion cub of Cintra.”

“She is a girl, who lost everything. Maybe her path will lead her back to the throne, but maybe it won’t. And maybe, that is for her to decide.” Triss came over and kissed them. “I will see you again.” A kiss to Geralt’s head, and one to Jaskier’s and she formed a portal. “You really do smell like fantastic sex.” She was gone before Geralt could curse her out.

“She has a destiny,” Geralt said.

“You don’t particularly believe in destiny,” Jaskier said and sniffed his armpit. “Oh dear god, is that smell me? I smell like you.”

Geralt growled and pressed him down onto the bed. “I know you do.”

“Oh great, the White Wolf all proud he marked his territory,” Jaskier huffed. “She’ll be back with servants in a moment. And we are bathing.”

Geralt pouted. He liked that Jaskier smelled like him, but he looked down at their bodies and realized just how much dried spunk was on their skin. “Fine.” He got off Jaskier and went to the bathing chamber. Servants came with hot water and filled the tub. Jaskier joined him, sheet wrapped around his waist. “We’ll leave the door open, face away,” Geralt told Ciri.

“Why?” Both Ciri and Jaskier asked.

“So you can tell us every single word of your time away.”

Jaskier gave him that soft smile and Geralt ignored it and sank into the water, which did feel good. Jaskier joined him and they scrubbed down as Ciri babbled about everything she had seen and done, and experienced. They cleaned themselves up quickly, though Geralt let Jaskier linger over his hair.

“Close your eyes,” Geralt said, and he and Jaskier dressed as she spoke of all the dancing she did. “Fully dressed?” Geralt asked.

“All interesting bits stayed covered,” Ciri promised. “Triss taught me about healing weeds that we might find on our way to Kaer Morhen, and a few other things. And I have gifts for both of you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Jaskier sat in front of her and Geralt sat on the chair. “All we care about is that you had a wondrous time.”

“It isn’t much,” she said. She reached into the bag that Geralt had made her, that she never traveled without. She handed Jaskier a pine cone. “I…it seemed better when I had the idea of it.”

“What was the idea?” Jaskier asked.

“It is old, Triss said, from the trees that were before the ones we know, trees only some creatures remember and regret the loss of. When you hold it up to the light you can see a bit of shimmer. It isn’t huge, though larger than the ones we know, but if it had fallen right it would have been mighty, grown something magnificent. It just made me think, you are growing me into something magnificent. Hopefully. That is silly.” 

Geralt smiled as Jaskier pulled her into his lap. “I love it. I’m going to string it and hang it off my lute.” Geralt was impressed by that, usually the lute was sacred, no ornamentation. 

He watched as Ciri pulled something else out of her bag and brought it over to him. Geralt looked at the stone in her hand. It was a pebble, worn smooth, by rain, by time. Grey with threads of blue and gold through it. Might be valuable, might be nothing. He looked at her. “I have no explanation,” she said after a moment. “I was dancing and saw it in the fire light, and just thought - I need to take that home to Geralt.”

He nodded and kissed her head. “My thanks,” he said. He carefully put it in his pocket. Ciri was like him, they weren’t human and sometimes things called and you couldn’t explain it, but you held onto them when they did.

Geralt was so mad at himself that it took him decades to realize that Jaskier called to him the same way. “You don’t want to be a queen, do you?” he asked softly as he watched her.

“I don’t,” she said. “I know I might have to be, but all there is on that throne is madness and anger and blood. If I am going to fight, I am going to fight for the right reasons. Like my father.”

“Duny was indeed a knight to model yourself after,” Geralt agreed.

“Yes, Duny, of course.” Ciri smiled a bit. “I’m sorry, it is just a pebble.”

“We’ll know its meaning in time,” he said. “Now would you like to stay another day here, or are you ready to travel?”

“I miss being on the road,” she said. “With the two of you. Jaskier, do you know how many of your songs we danced to?”

“Two,” Jaskier guessed.

“Five,” she said. “A few people were very jealous when I told them, that you were my father. And a few people seemed to know you? They giggled a lot and said something that I didn’t quite understand, and Triss hurt them for saying it to me. I think they were implying something sexual. I explained after that you were with Geralt and were soul mates, beloved companions, and they got scared? Why would anyone be scared of Geralt?” 

“No idea,” Jaskier replied. Geralt managed not to snort, but did give him a look over Ciri’s head.

“It is silly to be scared of Father, he’s only grumpy, not mean.”

“I know, my dear, it has taken me decades and barely a dint in all that fear in people.”

Geralt thought of all the blood on his hands. “I don’t care.”

“We do,” they both snapped.

“I need or want for nothing,” Geralt said.

Jaskier huffed, “There he goes again. Everyone needs things, Geralt.”

“I have the two of you, there is nothing more I could ever desire.” Geralt shrugged, it seemed obvious to him. If he had them, their love and support, he didn’t need anything else in this world. It was more than he ever thought he would have. 

“I am writing you such a song, you don’t even realize.”

“Oh, fuck, let’s just go.” They were both staring at him with liquidy eyes, and he did not know what to do with that. He hurriedly packed up his gear and left the room. Downstairs he had a quick ale and grabbed a meat pie. Roach was happy to see him. No liquidy eyes there. “Hello, girl,” he said softly. She nuzzled and smiled as much as a horse did. “Are you ready to head home?” They’d make their way slowly north, draw out the summer as best they could, arrive at the Kaer so that they had a couple weeks there. He was mentally planning routes as he packed up the two horses. Thankfully when they joined him their eyes were normal again. “Shall we?”

They both nodded and soon they were on the road.

When they made camp for the night, Jaskier played very jaunty songs and Ciri spun around the fire. Geralt smiled at her enthusiasm. “Dance with her,” Jaskier hissed. Geralt stood and held out her hand, and it wasn’t any particular dance, more just bouncing and spinning about, and she managed to lead him in so many circles that even his head got dizzy. He sat down and clapped a rhythm, and tilted his head at Jaskier. Jaskier nodded and took his turn with Ciri. The fire light made them so beautiful. Fucking luminous. When Ciri picked up her small drum and Jaskier held out his hand, Geralt let himself be dragged up and danced with Jaskier as well. At the end of the song, he kissed Jaskier’s jaw and Ciri squeaked.

“Are you going to kiss him more, you never kiss him! And he wants your kisses all the time.”

“Does he?”

“It’s in the song, isn’t it?” Ciri looked between them. “The one about your mouth.”

“The what now?” Geralt asked.

“Nothing,” Jaskier said, the dim light not hiding his blush. He started to pull away, but Geralt was not letting him. 

“The what now?”

“All his songs are about you, I thought you knew that,” Ciri said.

“Not ALL of them,” Jaskier glared at her a bit. “Sometimes, missy, we use the fact that he is a bit thick, to our advantage. And we don’t ruin that advantage for each other.”

“Ciri, crossbow at the ready, he and I need to go have a talk.” Geralt looked over, made sure that she had a weapon to hand and dragged Jaskier into the woods. “All your songs are about me?”

“I said not ALL,” Jaskier glowered a bit.

“Which ones aren’t?” Jaskier was looking at his nails. Geralt pressed him against a tree. “Which ones aren’t?”

“Anything with lost love, because couldn’t be about you - never had you in the first place.” Jaskier was not looking at him as he said that. “Otherwise…well,” he just looked helpless.

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Why?”

“Because it made good coin.”

“Hmm.”

“Because you were the only thing, the only person who ever lingered in my thoughts,” Jaskier whispered. “How could there be anything but you in there, Geralt? You are a fucking presence.”

“I would forget about you, months, years.” Geralt held tight. “I’m sorry.”

“It was who we were. I’m sure we separate -”

“No,” Geralt growled. “You think you are going anywhere without me again?”

Jaskier pinched his ear. “Geralt we are both wanderers, sometimes that wandering might lead us apart. It doesn’t mean we don’t find each other again.”

“What if something happened to you?” Geralt whispered.

“Then it happens?”

Geralt shook his head. “There is nothing for me, if you aren’t there. You are…there.” It was the word he used the other day, but it was all he had. Jaskier was now the fixed core of his universe. The center of everything, and the thought of that center not being there could take him to his knees. “I need you…there.” 

Jaskier’s hand pressed against his heart. “I am,” he promised. He then smiled, “I am a little impressed that you never figured out that Strength in Arms was about your actual arms and not your fight against those vampires. That is an extra branch of thick.”

“Shut up,” Geralt said and bit Jaskier’s throat. “How long until she is asleep and we can come back over here and have some fun?”

“Likely hours, she is still excited from her adventure.”

That was disappointing, but he pulled away from Jaskier and they headed back to camp. Geralt stopped and found himself squeezing Jaskier’s arm far too tightly. “No,” he whispered in horror. In fear.

Ciri was holding his silver sword, practicing the forms that she had seen Geralt do in the morning. Not the forms of a knight, a soldier. The moves of a Witcher. And she was doing them almost perfectly, the weight of the sword the only thing holding her back. “No,” he begged the gods.

“She said she wanted to be like her father,” Jaskier was hugging his arm, comforting him. “Is it so bad?”

Geralt nodded. “She…I won’t let her.” He could not let them do to her, what they did to him. He couldn’t. She was light and good, and all heart. They would strip all that away. He watched her pivot and slap the sword against her thigh, the wrist not moving correctly. She winced at the pain. It would bruise. He waited for her to put it down, but instead she went to the beginning and began again.

Because he had taught her, you don’t give up, you try again. Until you get it right. He did it with praise and not punishment, like how he had been taught, but the core lesson was the same. You go, again, until you can’t, and then you go once more. 

“Jaskier,” he begged.

“Geralt, you have two choices,” Jaskier said and Geralt was relieved. Jaskier would tell him how to stop this, to make her see any other path. “You can support her, train her as you have, just with a different end goal. Or you can deny her, and have her do it anyways without your guidance.” Jaskier was leaning against him, and Geralt was sure that weight was the only reason he was upright. “I suppose we could just pretend we didn’t see this. A third option for you.”

“They’ll break her.”

“Not if you don’t let them. Not if you are the one to teach her.” She did the pivot again, hit her thigh in the same spot, and she didn’t quit, just went back to the beginning. And tried again.

“Jaskier.”

“I know.”

Geralt moved into the fire light. “You need a looser wrist. And a lighter blade. For now.”

“Did you have a lighter blade at my age?” She was still moving.

“No,” Geralt said. “No we were told, to just get stronger.”

“So I’ll get stronger,” she snapped.

Geralt shook his head and took the sword from her. “You will not be taught like I was.”

“I want to be a Witcher. Like you. I want to help people. I cannot do that from a throne. But I can do that from here.”

“You will not be taught like I was,” he insisted. “We will not break you. We will forge you. It is about the wrist motion, not the weapon. Get your daggers.”

Jaskier strummed quietly as Geralt taught her until she wore herself out. When she was asleep, they didn’t sneak back into the woods. Jaskier just said beside Geralt offering silent comfort. When they lay down, Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s hair and it was his turn for his eyes to get liquidy. A few even fell, and Jaskier held his hands tight.

He wanted different for her, better.

But she would be a fucking magnificent Witcher.

Geralt’s tears stopped and he kissed Jaskier’s head. “You make sure they don’t steal her heart. You found mine, you’ll make sure she’ll keep hers.”

“We’ll guard her well.”

Geralt nodded, and didn’t really sleep that night.


	15. Chapter 15

They were stopped. He stared ahead of them. A couple more hours, and they would be knocking on the door. “So, camp for the night?”

“I would really prefer a bed, if it is an option,” Ciri said. She stood next to him. “And it seems like an easy option.” She tilted her head a bit. “It isn’t exactly in one piece.”

“No, there are a couple structural issues,” Geralt said. A lot of the walls were crumbling, there were holes in roofs, gaps in stonework. 

Kaer Morhen looked abandoned, forgotten by not just men, but even time.

It was perfect.

But it could wait until tomorrow. “Are you sure we don’t have one more family night? Just the three of us, a fire. There was that lake back there.” He thought the lake and just them sounded fine. Wonderful even. His travel companions didn’t, but he was pretty sure he could convince them.

“I’m having my monthly courses, Geralt, if there is a bed I want it,” she glared at him, and he was pleased at how strong that look was, even as he winced at the information. Yes, he could smell it on her, but there was a difference between smelling it, and her saying it out loud.

“I want our room,” Jaskier agreed.

“You wouldn’t like my room,” Geralt said. It was one of the spaces that was lacking a roof.

“Our room, as in the room all my stuff has been coming from?” Jaskier reminded him. “They showed me your room when I arrived, dropped me in it. Apparently if you sing Toss A Coin for 7 hours straight, you can break your compatriots enough, that you get a gorgeous room.”

“No room in there is gorgeous.”

“Geralt, I’m me - I made it gorgeous. The bed is very large and very soft, and I am sleeping in it tonight. You want to camp, you can camp. We are going home.” Jaskier started walking ahead and Ciri just shrugged at him and tapped her horse to get moving. Fuck, if they got to the door before him, he’d never hear the end of it. Geralt moved Roach forward and eventually into the lead up the narrow path to home. He dismounted when they arrived at the massive entrance door. He banged on the knocker and waited.

“Well well well, look what the Kikamore dragged in.” The voice from the rampart was familiar.

Geralt sighed and looked up, “Just let us in, Eskel.”

“You bring company, that is rare.”

“Eskel, how’s that rash, cleared up yet?” Jaskier shouted up. “Ciri, you should know exactly how your Uncle Eskel got a rash on his bollocks.”

“Ciri absolutely won’t learn about that,” Geralt said quickly. “Just let my family in already.”

“Family is it? Vesemir will be very interested in that word.”

Geralt kept his face calm, but he was concerned. Vesemir finding something interesting was not necessarily a good thing. The doors were opened and they went in. Eskel came down, and he and Geralt embraced. “I admit I did not expect many home yet. It is very early in the season.” Most came home when the first snow fell. He hadn’t come home last winter too restless figuring everything out, and then he had run into Jaskier again.

“I had a bit of a bad situation, decided to take some extra time. Only a few of us here right now,” Eskel said. “Jaskier,” he held out his hand and when Jaskier smiled and went to shake, Eskel pulled a blade and put it to his neck. “I believe I told you, you can’t trust anyone and to be on your guard.”

Ciri screamed as she reached for her daggers, and the force from it shook to mortar and Eskel flew back; he landed hard. Geralt pulled his sword and stalked forward. No potion was needed to blacken his eyes. “You dare?” he snarled. 4 times out of 5 Eskel could beat him in fair combat. But Geralt had no intentions of being fair. He had every intention of beating his brother to death with his own limbs. He moved, each step so furious it almost shook the walls as much as Ciri’s scream had. Eskel stood and had his sword in hand. Geralt was relentless and he saw the fear in Eskel’s eyes.

Good, he was hoping Eskel would shit himself in that fear. Geralt swung, and swung hard.

“I think he learned his lesson, Geralt,” Jaskier shouted. “Don’t kill him!”

At the last second Geralt turned his sword so the flat hit Eskel. It bruised a couple ribs but didn’t gut him. “If you ever draw a weapon on Jaskier again -”

“Enough,” Vesemir shouted. “I swear it is like you are whelps again.” He moved forward. “Both of you, run the steps thrice.”

“He pulled a sword on Jaskier,” Geralt shouted.

“He was trying to remind Jaskier of an important lesson. And Eskel seemed to learn one in return, didn’t he?” Vesemir waved a hand. “Go. Or no supper.”

Geralt growled a bit and in a stroke of defiance went over to Jaskier and Ciri first. “Good work,” he praised her, "but notice you relaxed our guard when you believed I had the situation in hand. We never relax our guard until our enemy is defeated."

“Yes, Father,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have screamed.”

“You were protecting your dad, I highly approve,” Geralt countered. He went over and cupped Jaskier’s face. “You are alright?”

“I’m fine, he was just being Eskel, he isn’t so bad,” Jaskier said. “He wants me to stay alive, he just has a weird way of making sure that happens. I much prefer your way.”

Geralt grumbled a bit. “Geralt,” Vesemir snapped. Geralt rolled his eyes and ran. He joined Eskel on the course they had been running since they were children. They both tried to shove each other over the walls, and it swiftly became a race. Geralt was perhaps a bit smug when he beat Eskel by a couple paces. 

“Still going to kill you if you pull a sword on him again.”

“He needs to learn to keep his guard up. I don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s a good man.”

“He has me,” Geralt snapped and went to a pump. He filled a bucket with water and stripped his shirt off. He poured it over his head. “He is fine.”

“And when he doesn’t have you?” Eskel asked as he did the same as Geralt.

Geralt snarled, couldn’t stop himself form crowding Eskel, “He’ll always have me.”

Eskel beamed and it took Geralt a moment to realize that the tackle wasn’t an attempt to kill him, but a hug. “You realized you are in love with the bard!”

Geralt pushed him off. “Yes,” he said as they lay on the ground. “We are together and raising Ciri half the year.”

Eskel barked out a laugh. “A whole fucking family, like you said. How’s that working out?”

“She wants to be a Witcher,” Geralt said quietly. He stared at the sky. Geralt though about how many times he had lain in this courtyard exhausted from training and stared at the sky.

“Would she be any good?”

What Eskel was really asking was, would she even survive.

“She will not stand the trials,” Geralt said. “She will be a magnificent Witcher, and we will find a different way to get her there. She carries magic in her. We will figure it out, if that is the path she wants to walk.”

“She is old to begin training.”

“My daughter learns quickly. The lion cub of Cintra is fearless.”

“Fuck,” Eskel groaned, “Of course that is who you end up with for a daughter.”

“Never ever take the Law of Surprise as payment,” Geralt said, but had to pause. “Always take the Law of Surprise.” He couldn’t fathom his life anymore without his daughter.

“The bard turned you into a sentimental sap,” Eskel smacked his chest. “Better come with good benefits. He let you bend him over a lot?”

“I can still kill you,” Geralt said. “And besides he bends me over more.”

“We are getting so drunk and talking one night.”

“Where is Jaskier’s room?”

Eskel shook his head. “If you don’t go talk to Vesemir first, you know you will be in shit.”

Geralt did know that. He stood up and stepped on Eskel’s cock as he went in the direction of Vesemir’s office. When he got there he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Vesemir called. Geralt went and stood in front of his desk. He couldn’t count how many times he had stood there in his youth. They stared at each other. “You always were complicated.”

“I’m simple,” Geralt said. “I’m a Witcher.”

“And a partner and a father.”

Geralt tilted his head. “You know why Jaskier doesn’t age.”

“I do,” Vesemir said. “And so will you, in time. This is not that time.” He stood up and moved around his desk. “She is strong.”

“She is,” Geralt agreed.

“Many different destinies follow her. It is interesting.”

“She will choose her path, whatever it may be.” Geralt looked at him. “I am going to give her Witcher training.”

“Of course, she can -”

“You don’t understand,” Geralt looked at his mentor, his family. A man who once he had stopped being a callow youth, he had never defied. And he was about to tell centuries of tradition to go fuck itself. “I will train her. You may provide input. But what was done to me? Is never being done to her. Another way will be found.”

“There is no other way.”

“There is always another way, I’ve learned that.” Geralt moved forward and pressed a finger against Vesemir’s chest. “And if you don’t agree, don’t listen to me in this? I’m not the one you have to be scared of. I’ll let Jaskier loose. No town will ever allow a Witcher to step foot in it, after the songs he would write.”

Vesemir almost smiled. “A credible threat. They are in the west wing, his room is at the base of the gazing tower. Ciri has elected to sleep in the gazing tower.”

Geralt nodded. “Why did you give him a room here? Welcome him in. You never welcome strangers.”

Vesemir just gave him a look, as if Geralt should know the answer already, and didn’t say another word. Geralt knew he would say no more. He gave a small bow and headed to that area of the keep. He found himself moving quickly when he heard Ciri and Jaskier singing, and there was an open door. He stood in the doorway and watched Jaskier brush her hair. 

The rooms were not as…bright as he expected. It was a large room, with a half wall blocking off a bath area. There was a good view, and the bed was probably the largest in the whole keep. They had slept on cots with a thin blanket, and here they were piled high. But they were not yellow or blue, or something eye searing. They were grey and black, woven through with red and silver. The bed was on a dark wood frame. Everything looked sturdy, that if he flopped down onto it, it would all hold his weight. There were splashes of colour, of Jaskier, but they blended in so well that it took you a moment to realize. It was in the fabrics that looked lustrous, the soft pillows by the fire place. A vanity table.

Jaskier had created a space that was perfect for them together, when he had made it his. Geralt looked at him. “You spoil me.”

“Don’t thing there is a thing you can do to stop me,” Jaskier said and tied the ribbon in Ciri’s hair. “There you go my love.”

“I have a tower, Geralt,” she said happily.

“I dreamed many a night in there.”

“That is what Vesemir told me. That if you were missing, it was there. And we are still close. I am just up the stairs at the end of the hall. So I won’t bother you too much.”

Geralt came close and cupped her cheek. “You are never a bother, and in fact can always bother us.”

Jaskier coughed a bit, “Just knock first.”

Geralt nodded in agreement to that. “Tonight you will meet everyone who is here, and I am sure word is swiftly going out to all that you are here. They will be curious and want to come home if they can, before you leave for Yennefer.” He hated even saying that word. Leaving. But it was still a time away. It wasn’t today, or even tomorrow.

“Will they like me?”

“Well, they seem to tolerate Jaskier, so I think you will be fine,” Geralt promised her. “Because he is annoying, and lucky they didn’t run him through when he knocked on the door.”

Ciri giggled a bit. “I’m going to go get changed.” She kissed his cheek and hurried away.

“Can I do your hair?”

“No,” Geralt said. He went and locked their door. He leaned against it. “Interesting room you created here.”

Jaskier stayed where he was and just raised his brow. “Is it?”

“I can’t help but notice, that it doesn’t have a lot of bright colours in it.”

“I bring all the pizazz, it doesn’t need more.” 

Geralt started to move forward, and Jaskier started to walk away. In the direction of the bed. “Furniture that I like.”

“You got me used to this sort of thing.” Jaskier apparently could read something on Geralt’s face, because he started to shed clothes with each step. “You know what I particularly like about the table by the bed?”

Geralt began to undo his trousers. “No, what?”

“The drawer there has all sorts of interesting things. That you might find interesting.”

“How interesting?” Geralt was naked and moved closer. “Get those pants off, Jaskier, unless you want them ruined.” He smiled at how quickly Jaskier was naked. That drawer was opened and oil brought out. He got a glimpse before Jaskier shut it and it did seem there was very interesting things in there. Geralt moved close and Jaskier was sitting on the edge of the bed.

Geralt sank to his knees and nuzzled Jaskier’s cock. “We have a bit of time before dinner.” He licked the tip, suckled just a little bit, mostly just to tease, to torment. He purred when Jaskier’s fingers sank into his hair, tugged. “How should we spend it?”

“I really should thank you for the way you defended me from a completely nonexistent threat,” Jaskier said and groaned when Geralt swallowed and sank down on his length. “I should really let you suck my dick as a thank you.”

Geralt laughed a bit around the length. He really hoped that the bed frame was as sturdy as it looked.


	16. Chapter 16

“Suck my dick, Eskel!”

Geralt glared. “Hey, language!” The half dozen Witchers having some morning sparring were all cheering though. He watched as Ciri darted forward with her daggers again, and Eskel returned her blows. Her footwork was getting incredible. They weren’t training her for strength, but for speed. And as Jaskier said, she had more brains than all the other Witchers put together, and they might as well use that. Geralt was teaching her to apply those skills to killing things.

Apparently, some of his brethren were teaching her to apply it to trash talk. Eskel had her pushed back, knocked her down. “Don’t just react,” Geralt called. “Think. He has the advantage.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Ciri growled as she slowly crawled backwards in the dirt. 

Eskel kept moving forward. “And how do you figure that, wolf cub?”

If Geralt was capable of flushing in pleasure at that, he would have. A week ago the others had started calling her wolf cub. They were declaring her wholly as Geralt’s. He had wondered how she would feel about that, considering her grandmother, the erasure of her past. She had snarled and howled at the moon and, the men had all roared. Jaskier had sighed at the manners of all the heathens.

Geralt watched her stop crawling back and drop one of her daggers. “Your fingers are short, stubby little things,” she said.

That made everyone watching pause. Most importantly, it made Eskel pause. “How does that give you the advantage? They hold my short swords just fine.”

“Well, you want to be with Triss. And she has fucked Jaskier, and really liked his long fingers. A lot. Even more than Father. Think you’d come second in her memory in comparison to a bard. Oh wait, she’ll never allow an unkempt man like you in her bed, so guess you’ll never come at all,” she said, and flung dirt in his distracted face. She roared and flipped up, daggers in hand, and had one at his throat and one at his stomach. “Yield,” she demanded.

Eskel was blinded and beaming. “Well played. I yield.”

There were cheers from everyone, and several men teasing Eskel about Ciri’s words. Ciri skipped over to Geralt and smiled. “I won!”

“Yes, because you know him. Not every enemy will be known and can be taunted that way.” He watched her face fall just a little bit and cupped her chin. “But for when it is a known enemy, that is a very clever ploy, to distract from your hands with your words.” He wiped a streak of dirt off her cheek. She was always a bit dirty, these days and rather loving it. Yennefer would have their heads when she arrived in a week. “Good work, wolf cub.”

“Thank you, Father. Forms?” she asked eagerly. Geralt grabbed his sword and they moved together in the courtyard, working through her forms, practicing on some dummies. The crowd offered advice, teased, and all eventually joined in.

Because they had all fallen under Geralt’s cub’s spell.

“Would that you had worked this well together when you were her age!” Vesemir called to them. “My dear, it is time for your lessons.”

“This is more fun,” Ciri pouted.

“Yeah, we want our cub,” Eskel said, and one look from Vesemir and he quieted.

Geralt looked at her. “Do not drink anything he offers, agree to nothing he asks without consulting me. If he even says the word Trials, stab him.”

“I know.” Ciri’s eye roll was almost as good as Jaskier’s. She stood on tip toe and kissed his cheek. On her way by, she tripped and knocked over Eskel and ran before he could catch her. Vesemir’s gaze was indulgent. If they had back talked and goofed around like Ciri did, they would have been whipped.

The rules for grandchildren really were different than they were for children. Vesemir had an arm around Ciri and was asking her how to identify a doppler as they walked to the library.

Geralt grinned and moved to help Eskel up. “She destroyed you.” He was downright smug.

“I let her.” 

He did, a bit, but Geralt wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of his fun. “Your fingers are rather short.”

“Jaskier has not bedded Triss. She has more taste than that,” Eskel dismissed. He had been mooning over Triss for a few decades. The fool.

“She has,” Geralt replied. He clapped a hand on Eskel’s shoulder. “I’m sure that if you asked very very nicely, Jaskier could give you some advice.”

Eskel tackled Geralt and soon all the Witchers there were in a scrum. To anyone else it would look vicious, horrifically violent.

They were playing.

Geralt rolled free and looked at where the sun was starting to shine over the mountains. It was late enough to wake Jaskier. And Ciri would be busy for at least another hour with Vesemir. He thought she was rather reminded of Mousesack, and they got lost in books together. He walked away and when Eskel asked where he was going, Geralt just snorted, “Where the fuck do you think?”

He ignored the catcalls that followed and went to his room. The curtains were still drawn tight, and he opened them, just a little bit. He smiled at the way that Jaskier frowned as the light hit him and rolled over, buried in the mounds of blankets. Geralt regularly woke up, covered by nothing, and only able to see the top of Jaskier’s head. He asked what Jaskier would do when winter hit, and he had just said steal all of Geralt’s heat by never letting him go. Geralt did not see a problem with that plan.

Geralt grabbed a rag and wiped some of the sweat and grime off, and slid onto the bed. Now was the difficult choice of what he wanted to wake Jaskier up for. He started by wrapping his arms around Jaskier, pulling him close. Gentle touches that stroked his skin - once the skin could be found under the blankets. They warmed the skin, but he wasn’t doing things that would arose him to full wakefulness. Also, they had discovered that secure in his safety, in his dream bed. It took a great deal to wake up Jaskier before he was ready.

Which made doing this even more fun. Geralt lightly stroked one of Jaskier’s nipple, circling, pressing but not pinching. He kissed Jaskier’s neck and the man began to shift a little in his sleep. A single nip on that sensitive neck and Jaskier would be awake in an instant. So Geralt licked, kissed but never applied too much pressure. Jaskier smelled like Geralt from the sex they had last night. Geralt liked that. That even after he bathed, a Witcher could still easily smell Geralt on Jaskier. Jaskier thought all the jokes about how marked he was were about the bruises Geralt sometimes left on his throat, not realizing how he smelled to all of them.

Geralt reached into the drawer and pulled out the oil. He slicked a couple fingers and then dove under the blankets. He slid Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, half hard with morning wood, and because of Geralt’s ministrations. Geralt did suck, just kept the weight on his tongue as he began to open himself up. His own fingers no longer quite satisfied him - hours of Jaskier happily fingering him until Geralt had come two or three times had ruined him. But he really wanted to wake Jaskier up, Geralt riding his cock.

Jaskier was starting to grow more restless, there was a sleepy moan. Geralt bobbed his head, sucked just enough, to harden Jaskier fully. He pulled his fingers out of himself and moved Jaskier a bit. Geralt climbed on top and sank himself down on Jaskier’s cock. He looked down at his bard, who was clearly struggling on whether to wake up or stay asleep. He didn’t raise himself up, just rocked his hips, keeping it all soft and slow. Geralt smiled, as Jaskier sort of pouted. “I know you are awake,” Geralt said.

“No, dreaming. Perfect dream,” Jaskier whined and screwed his eyes shut. The words were slurred enough to show the man wasn’t fully awake yet. “Good dream.” But Jaskier’s hands moved onto Geralt’s thighs.

“It is a good dream,” Geralt agreed. “Enjoy it.” He lifted up a bit and sank back down. He ignored his own cock to focus on the pleasure of that feel of Jaskier in him. Of how Jaskier trusted him so implicitly that Geralt had full permission to do whatever he wanted with Jaskier’s body while he slept. “We should try your whole hand in me soon,” Geralt said, just to enjoy the way that Jaskier’s eyes popped open and his hips snapped up. “If you want.”

“I want,” Jaskier gasped, and his nails left half moons on Geralt’s thighs. The marks would fade quickly. Geralt sometimes, when perhaps six ales in, thought about having tattoos there, marking where Jaskier regularly dug in. Geralt was becoming far too fanciful. He groaned when Jaskier moved a hand to Geralt’s cock, and Geralt began to rock faster. Jaskier was the first to come, and a tap at Geralt’s thighs had Geralt sliding off and moving up Jaskier.

Jaskier eagerly swallowed around his cock. 

It had taken a bit of time for Geralt to accept that Jaskier liked it like this. Geralt’s weight trapping him, as he fucked Jaskier’s face. It had to be overwhelming, too much. But Jaskier liked to be overwhelmed. Geralt held Jaskier’s head in place and the second Jaskier’s throat closed around him, Geralt spilled. He slid off Jaskier and lay on his back. Geralt smiled as Jaskier flopped on top of him and fell asleep again. He ran a hand up and down the man’s back, and thought of nothing in particular.

There was a knock on their door and he smiled. “Yes, Ciri?”

“Aubry wants to give me riding lessons? To teach me to shoot my crossbow while astride.”

“Have you eaten?” There was silence. “Eat a bit, and then go. Remember that Jaskier wants to work on your art and music lessons later today.”

“Of course!” Ciri shouted. “I won’t miss it, Dad.”

“I know you won’t,” Jaskier called back. “Go have fun.”

“I want to learn everything I can before I leave with Yennefer.” They could hear her running away.

Geralt growled a little bit.

“My poor, Witcher, already mourning the loss of his cub,” Jaskier teased.

“Like you aren’t dreading Yennefer taking her away, just as much.”

“Of course I am,” Jaskier replied. Geralt looked down at him and Jaskier shrugged. “But it is the right thing for her. The things that Yennefer can teach her, will balance well with everything she learns here.”

“I know.”

“Come, let’s have a bath.” They heated water and filled the tub. Geralt sank into the water, and Jaskier settled in, leaned against his chest. Geralt wrapped his arms around him. “It won’t be so bad,” Jaskier said after a bit.

“It will be worse.”

“It will,” Jaskier sighed. “We should travel for a month or two, after she is gone. It will distract us, then come home for the worst of winter.”

“Not a terrible idea,” Geralt had to agree. “By the way my apologies for if Eskel asks you how to bed Triss.” Geralt laughed at how that threw Jaskier for a loop.

“I…am just going to ignore that,” Jaskier decided. He reached for the soap and turned to clean Geralt, and Geralt purred as he always did when Jaskier washed his hair. “Have you talked to Vesemir?”

“Many times,” Geralt said.

“About the big question at hand?” Jaskier scraped Geralt’s scalp with his nails and Geralt was a fucking puddle.

“He won’t say,” Geralt replied. “Said if I can’t figure it out, he didn’t raise me right.”

“Really. He should know by now how thick you are about certain things and give you at least a clue.” Jaskier shook his head. “I’ll ask him.”

“He’ll probably say similar.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier grumbled.

Geralt found it incredibly cute when Jaskier made that noise; half the time he didn’t even realize he did it, copy Geralt’s vocal ticks. He just had picked them up by them spending so much time together. They reluctantly left the bath, and Jaskier went off to write some letters, work on his music and Geralt checked on Roach and then went to the forge. He was amusing himself making weapons, practicing metalwork. Their blacksmith was indulging him, and he was making Ciri a short sword for when she left them.

The day passed quickly as it always did, and dinner was upon them. Geralt only had to cover Ciri’s ears a few times, from the ribald tales the Witcher’s told, and she impressed the lot of them with her belching. Even Vesemir had to hide his smile at that.

“Right, why am I ageless?” Jaskier asked out of the blue. Every Witcher stared at him. And then Geralt. And then Vesemir. Geralt realized that they all wanted the answer.

“Because of Geralt,” was Vesemir’s reply.

“Yes, yes, we know that. And believe me I do not object, but a bit more of a defined explanation would be lovely.”

“Is it because of the wish on a star that Geralt made?” Ciri asked as she leaned forward. “I bet it is.”

“I have never wished on a star,” Geralt protested.

“You did, the walls in my tower told me,” Ciri said looking at him.

Geralt looked to Vesemir who had that stupid knowing look on his face. “A wish on a star would not make Jaskier ageless, not that I ever wished upon a fucking star.”

Vesemir lit a pipe and leaned back in his chair. “Once upon a time,” he began.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Geralt snapped.

“Shut up,” Eskel replied and threw a tankard at him. Geralt watched them all lean forward to hear the tale. Ciri leaned against him, and Geralt automatically wrapped an arm around her.

“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Geralt of Rivia. This lad was special. It was clear as day. There were better fighters, like Eskel,” 

“Haha, I’m better than you,” Eskel smirked and Geralt flipped him off.

“But Geralt had something about him. More…heart if you will. And we knew that the mutagens, the Trials, would burn that out of him. Consume it, make him a Witcher unlike any other. A hard price to protect the world, but a worthy one.” Geralt thought he’d rather argue against that. “He was in pain, in agony one night, not even sure if he would live. And he dragged himself up to the tower.”

“My tower,” Ciri said and Vesemir nodded.

“It was an eclipse of the wolf moon, why we had given him so many mutagens that night. And the stars began to fall from the heavens. Mages across the land were reading the portents and casting so much magic that it was palpable in the air.”

“And Geralt made a wish.”

“It was a bizarre confluence of things. That likely could never be repeated,” Vesemir said. 

“What I wished that in 80 years I’d meet an annoying bard that I would fall in love with but not realize for a few decades and somehow in there make him ageless?” Geralt snorted.

“No, you wished to not forget what it meant to feel,” Vesemir said quietly. “But you did.”

“Until me,” Jaskier said.

“I felt things before Jaskier,” Geralt frowned. 

“Of course you did,” Vesemir said. “Physical things, grumpy things.” Ciri giggled at that. “And then one day, because of Jaskier, you felt something else. Something more. Your heart didn’t beat because it had to, it beat because it felt things. And that wish, under those specific circumstances made him ageless, so that you can continue you to feel.”

The whole room was quiet, and Geralt heard a sniffle. He expected the story to have moved Ciri or Jaskier, but a couple of his brethren actually had liquidy eyes. 

“I am writing such a song of this,” Jaskier whispered. 

“You are soul mates,” Ciri squealed and clapped her hands. “It is a fairy tale.”

“Come on, that is complete bullshit,” Geralt said.

“Well it is that, or Jaskier got completely shit faced one night, and you gave him the wrong potion for a hangover cure and made him immortal instead,” Vesemir replied with a shrug. “Which story do you prefer?”

“Yennefer laughed her ass off at you over this, so it is definitely the romantic one,” Jaskier pointed out. “Because she would find it hysterical that young Geralt made a wish on a star that somehow made me ageless.”

That was true. Geralt sighed a bit. “It is soooo. You can’t write a song about it, it will ruin my standing,” Geralt pointed at Jaskier. “No songs about Witchers and soul mates.”

“Of course I won’t write a song,” Jaskier smiled at him, almost beatifically.

“He’ll write a dozen,” Eskel fake whispered to Ciri. Ciri nodded in agreement.

Geralt groaned. “I wished on a fucking star, and got Jaskier. For all time?” It felt so idiotic.

“Geralt, we understand so very little of the universe. Take the boons it gives, lest they be taken away.”

That, Geralt could agree with. Vesemir left and so did Ciri, and then the teasing began in earnest. Every Witcher started to poke at Geralt over this new information, and even Jaskier was giggling.

“You loved me decades before I was born,” Jaskier said as he pointed and laughed. “That could make a bard weep.” He even wiped a fake tear away, the bastard.

Geralt growled and stood up. He grabbed Jaskier and tossed him over his shoulder. He carried him back to their rooms and dropped him on their bed. “Will you ever shut up about this?”

Jaskier was still laughing. “You didn’t know you loved me, and made me ageless with it. That is how huge your love was — and you didn’t even realize. So no, I am never, ever shutting up about this.”

Geralt let his full weight drop on Jaskier and kissed him breathless. “Are you sure you won’t shut up?”

“Why don’t you make me?” Jaskier challenged.

Geralt bit his neck. “Why don’t I?” he agreed. He spent hours wearing Jaskier out, made him cry in pleasure until he almost had no voice. When they were snuggled in after, Geralt was feeling quite smug about shutting Jaskier up.

“Hehehehe, you made me ageless with the power of happy thoughts. Which moment exactly was it? I mean based on how I look it has to have been in a certain time frame. We need to figure out the exact moment you did this, felt a thing and didn’t even realize it.”

Geralt sighed, of course he hadn’t shut the man up.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally thought this would be 18 chapters but as I wrote this chapter, I realized that it was the right ending for the tale. Thank you so much for reading an all your amazing comments- I have appreciated you more than you realize.

Geralt’s eyes blinked open the second he heard the sound of a portal. 

“Well, finally figured it all out?”

“Most of it, still haven’t tried fisting,” Geralt said, just to see how she would react. The huff was truly impressive. “I’ve missed you. Ciri even more so.”

Yennefer smiled. “I have missed her as well.” She looked between them. “Is he…are we…” She shook her head. “Where should I sleep?”

“You can go up to the tower and bed down with Ciri. There is a room across the hall. Or, you can lay here.” Geralt moved the covers and held out an arm.

“He won’t mind?” 

“No,” Geralt said simply. 

Yennefer pulled her clothes off and crawled into the bed nude. Geralt wrapped his arm around her and breathed her in. “I have missed you.”

“I missed you as well,” she said quietly. “How is she?”

“She is magnificent,” Geralt told her. He took a deep breath. “I need you to prepare yourself for what I am about to tell you.”

“She wants to be a Witcher.”

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

“The size of Jaskier’s cock?” Yennefer said after a moment. She lifted the blanket up and peered into the dark. “There, now I know everything.”

“I thought you would be mad.”

“I am,” Yennefer said. She flicked a nipple and Geralt hissed. Bitch. He kissed her head. “But I also knew there was a chance this would happen. But if you try to pour even a single mutagen down her throat -”

“No. None of that. No trials. I threatened Vesemir with a threat that even he feared. She will train a different way,” Geralt promised. “And you will be a huge part of that training. Because if we aren’t enhancing her that way. She’ll need potions and protections. Magical knowledge you carry, and we don’t.” Geralt sank a hand into her hair. It was so smooth, lux against his skin. He tilted her head and kissed her. Her lips moved against his, and when she opened her mouth, he pressed his tongue in. He pulled her on top of him and they rocked against each other before she froze.

“Geralt, Jaskier is right there.”

“I know,” Geralt squeezed her breast. “And if you have a problem with that, we can move across the hall, or we can stop entirely.” He gazed up at her. “It is up to you.” He willed her to understand what he meant.

“What Geralt means, is I don’t care if you two fuck. Be nice to watch sometime? Maybe wank while I watch.”

“I’m never taking both your dicks,” Yennefer said.

“I don’t particularly want you to take my dick.” Jaskier shrugged. “You fucking terrify me. Besides, while I am sure your cunt is fantastic, I’ve really gotten used to Geralt’s ass, and not really looking for anything else at this time.”

Geralt sighed. “Well this is the most awkward conversation I have ever been in.”

“Fourth for me,” Yennefer said after thinking about it.

“Amateurs. Doesn’t even make my top ten.” Jaskier shifted, kissed Geralt’s shoulder. He also squeezed Yennefer’s hand and all three were shocked when she squeezed back. “Have fun,” and he was utterly sincere in the words. He rolled over and buried himself in the blankets.

“This is a really comfortable bed,” Yennefer said. She shrugged and rolled her hips. Geralt smiled up at her. 

“It is.” 

It was a quiet fuck, not the tempest it usually was. More just a reunion, a welcome to each other’s company. When they were done she snuggled down into his arms. “I didn’t expect him to allow you to keep on with me.”

“No one allows me or doesn’t, for what I want.” Geralt pushed his fingers into her and stroked her to a second orgasm. He licked his fingers clean. “I want you. Always.”

“I want you often,” she said honestly. “But then, I want everything.”

“Except me!” Jaskier said cheerfully from the other side of the bed.

“Except you,” Yennefer agreed. “Next time, you can watch though.”

“My thanks.” 

“You are really fine with this?” Yennefer asked him, and Geralt was surprised at how she sounded. Concerned for Jaskier. They really did have an odd relationship. 

“I am,” Jaskier reassured her. “You love him, in your way. And he loves you. I’m regularly an asshole, but not that sort of asshole.”

“You aren’t an asshole,” Geralt growled. He could feel both Yennefer and Jaskier staring at him. “What you aren’t? A bother, annoying, frustrating, exasperating, a cad, but not an asshole.”

“How romantic,” Yennefer said. “How many songs Jaskier must have written about your way with words.”

Jaskier snorted at that. 

“Enough, you two. Sleep,” Geralt ordered. They all settled into the bed, and he had to admit there were far worse ways to sleep than sandwiched between Yennefer and Jaskier.

Many hours later there was a knock on the door. “Geralt, you weren’t the courtyard for - Mama!” Ciri shouted and ran at the bed. She crawled over Geralt and Jaskier and was hugging Yennefer tight. “Mama, you are here. And naked.”

“Yes well, Yennefer likes to let her tits breathe,” Jaskier said and Geralt goosed his side.

“I have missed you,” Yennefer said and kissed Ciri’s head. “So much.”

“I am going to be a Witcher,” Ciri blurted out. “Don’t be mad.”

“I don’t love the idea,” Yennefer said, “but I also know about forging your own path. If this is what you want, I will teach you many things. Many ways.”

“You know what would teach her well?” Jaskier said. “Watching you and Geralt fight together. It would show her how a smaller partner can work with a larger. I don’t hate the idea of her working in pairs in the future.”

“A fair point,” Geralt said. Plus he loved fighting with Yennefer at his side. “Give us time to dress. Tell the others that we want all of them to face against Yennefer and I together.”

Ciri beamed, “This will be amazing.” She kissed Yennefer’s cheek and ran out of the room.

Geralt kissed Yennefer’s head. “You’ll get used to it.”

Yennefer cleared her throat. Geralt glared at Jaskier to make sure that he didn’t comment on Yennefer’s wet eyes. But Jaskier was leaving the bed. Likely to give them a moment.

“She loves you, as she loves a parent.” Geralt held Yennefer close. “It is a terrifying feeling.”

“We are wretched people, Geralt.”

“We are,” he agreed. He and Yennefer knew exactly what they were, despite the lens that Jaskier and Ciri saw them through. “But she loves us anyway.”

“I will tear the world apart before I let it hurt her.”

Geralt could well understand that sentiment. “What about tearing apart a few Witchers? Just to show off.”

“You say the loveliest things.”

They went down to the courtyard where Ciri was just trash talking the Witchers to hell and back. Yennefer gave him a look. Geralt just shrugged. “This was not a part of the lessons I gave.”

“Charming,” Yennefer said. She went over the weapons stand and picked a sword. Geralt moved to the center and she joined him. 7 Witchers surrounded them.

“10 Ducats on my parents,” Ciri shouted.

Several men shouted back their wagers.

Ciri had a fortune in less than ten minutes. Or she would have, but Witchers don’t actually have that sort of money. So she agreed to take what was owed her in trade. The next five days were a blur of training, and revelry, and most of the Witchers loving Yennefer as much as Geralt did. She was in their bed some nights, other beds other nights. Geralt walked the ramparts and wondered if he could convince her to stay, she was enjoying herself.

“No,” she said coming up next to him. 

“What?” he asked.

“I am not moving here. To the end of the world? Please,” Yennefer said. “Beside within a month you and I would have a fight that would tear down the fragile walls.”

Geralt hated that she was right. The walked along holding hands. “I love you.”

“It is so odd to hear you express feelings,” Yennefer said. “Another thing that would annoy me before too long. And Jaskier might not get jealous, but I do, and I would be mad that you couldn’t be mine on my whim. And she needs time away from here.” Yennefer looked at him. “If you want her to grow, to be a strong person, to be a new type of Witcher, all her training cannot occur her. Because eventually they’ll wear you down. Just a small dose, just a small test.”

“Jaskier would never let them,” Geralt said, because she was likely correct that no matter how he felt, the right words from Vesemir could wear him down.

“True, but you know she and I have to leave,” Yennefer said. She tucked her arm into his. “But, if this is her path, we need to change the plans a bit.”

“Oh?” Geralt looked at her. 

“It makes sense for her to winter here, at Kaer Morhen, when there are many to train her. And then she spends thaw to first snowfall with me, learning of the world and other possibilities. Lessons.” Yennefer looked out at the view, leaves starting to turn. “I cannot go another two seasons without her though.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Geralt swore.

“She and I will go for two months,” Yennefer said. “And then she’ll return to you for the worst of winter. When the first thaw breaks, you will travel south to me, and I will take over from there. When the first flake of snow leaves the sky we will portal to here.”

It was a reasonable way to change the schedule. “The world will have never seen the like of what you and I forge her into being.”

Yennefer smiled darkly. “Chaos and Destiny will bow before her.”

Geralt kissed her deeply and they fucked hard against the rampart wall.

*

“I made you this,” Geralt said and handed the short sword to Ciri. Embedded into the pommel was the pebble that she had found for him. “I can’t say why, but it was just right to put in there.”

Ciri nodded in understanding. She moved the sword and it was perfect in her hand. “I love it.”

Jaskier had a cloak for her, and a necklace. The dinner that night was extra loud and there was even sweet cakes and honey. After Yennefer opened a portal and after a searing kiss to Geralt walked through.

Geralt cupped Ciri’s face. “Learn well. I will see you in two months. I love you, daughter.”

“I love you so much,” Ciri said and buried her face against his chest.

“My wolf cub,” Geralt kissed her head. “She can hold a portal for a long time, but not forever.” He nudged her, and Ciri clung to Jaskier almost as much as she did Geralt and then she was gone. All the Witchers were quiet and the ale flowed freely.

They were all morose to lose their little cub.

Jaskier began to sing and they all listened. It was a song about Ciri, a song that would build myth and legend. A song that guaranteed Ciri and not her grandmother would be the one that history remembered. 

Geralt wasn’t the only Witcher in the room with liquidy eyes. 

When they went to bed, Jaskier wrapped himself around Geralt, the way Geralt usually held him. It was an odd feeling, but very comforting. “It is only two months,” Geralt said.

“It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“It is very annoying after decades of it being dulled, to feel this much.”

“Big hearts are a fucking son of a bitch to carry,” Jaskier agreed. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Hmm?”

“If we stay here, you will mope. Let’s go explore for a few weeks, find an adventure or two. Come back when she is to come back.”

“But your comfortable bed,” Geralt said.

“Been getting a little too comfortable. I miss the open road. The danger, the adventure, the you smelling disgusting when you are covered in monster guts and I clean you. Plus there is a fall harvest festival not too far from here, that has a delightful bard competition, and some good shops. I haven’t bought you anything in a while and I desperately want to spoil you.”

Geralt rolled on top of Jaskier. “All I want is you. You don’t have to buy me things.”

Jaskier snorted. “Just try to stop me. I’ll spend my money how I like. And I feel like you need a new thing or two.”

Geralt huffed a bit and buried his face in Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier was thankfully quiet about the tears that fell against his skin. When Geralt was done, he nodded. “A bit of time on the road does sound good.”

“If we leave at first light, I will stab you.”

In the morning they rode off without a goodbye to anyone, but the foodstuffs and potions in the saddlebags suggested their departure was expected. Geralt easily dodged the knife that Jaskier tried to stab him with. He almost called to Ciri to hurry up, before he remembered she was gone. He nodded a bit and appreciated when Jaskier squeezed his thigh. “Let’s find something to kill, and an inn for you to sing in.”

“You really do say the most romantic things,” Jaskier said. He began to strum, and Geralt smiled slowly.

He was finally singing Toss a Coin again.

Geralt hummed along, and had to catch Jaskier before he fell off the side of the mountain in shock.

They made camp eventually, and Jaskier fucked him in front of the fire. After, Geralt held him close. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jaskier sounded confused.

“How long it took me. To see, to realize.”

“Meh, Jaskier waved off decades as if they were nothing.

“We could have had more.”

“Geralt, we have each other, all the time in the world, and a perfect daughter, who is going to reshape that world. What more could we actually want?”

Geralt thought about it. “I could use new riding boots.”

Jaskier squeezed him so tightly, it almost hurt. “I am buying you the best boots in all the lands.” 

Geralt fell into a meditative state, listening to Jaskier go on and on about the boots. He vaguely thought that he’d have to make sure that Jaskier didn’t buy gem encrusted boots or anything. The man had the worst taste. After all, he had fallen in love with Geralt, which was certainly proof of that poor taste.

Geralt hoped that never changed.

“I’m going to love your idiotic ass forever,” Jaskier said quietly.

“Only use your psychic weird mojo for my sex thoughts,” Geralt said.

“While you are all mellow, it seems someone packed us a good bit of oil. Shall we see just how much of my hand we can put in you?”

In an instant, Geralt was fully aware and nipping at Jaskier’s neck. He missed Ciri dreadfully, but he was looking forward to a couple months of the sort of trouble Jaskier would put them in.

He used to loathe the trouble that Jaskier brought.

And now, it was his favourite thing in the world. “I love you,” Geralt told him.

“Good. Now get naked, and let’s make have some fun.” Jaskier was humming a song he had written, a very filthy one he never sang around Ciri.

Geralt laughed loudly enough it startled some of the wildlife. “Have all the fun you want.”

“You have no idea how much that is, Geralt.”

“Show me,” Geralt demanded.

It was just the perfect amount of fun, and was going to be his forever.

He was very pleased with that idea.


End file.
